Powerless
by KorrohShipper
Summary: AU! A what-if situation for the Season 3A finale. Someone dies, will probably become a three-shot. Will probably become a prequel to something.
1. Powerless — Scott

_**Powerless — Scott**_

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 _ **A random thought I've developed after re-watching Season 3A. Character death. Made with a healthy dose Sciles bromance and some Scallison on the sidelines. Character death, I guess. Oh, and I do not own Teen Wolf.**_

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Scott stood in front of the narrow, metal tub filled to the brim with ice water. His heart was hammering with Allison's guilt-ridden face still fresh in his memories. A spot near his lungs ached at the thought when suddenly, a voice spoke up behind him. It was his boss, Deaton, the veterinarian who also happened to serve as his pack's emissary and druid. Scott's heart had jumped, surprised that his boss suddenly spoke up behind him just when he was about to jump into a tub to serve as a surrogate sacrifice for his Mom.

The look on Deaton's face was clear: have patience. Scott drummed his fingers against his legs, anxious to get into the tub to save his Mom. "Now," Deaton spoke up while he inspected the tubs. "I want you all to take a good look at your anchors," hearing the words made Scott's heart ache. He wanted to look at Allison because he still believe that she's still his anchor to humanity even after they had broken up. Eventually, Scott forced himself to look at the watch inside his palm.

Scott looked at his palm and what was inside his hand—it was a vintage watch, bronze casing and fitted with leather straps on both ends. Scott honestly didn't know why he had chosen the watch as his anchor. Like he had said earlier, it was a reminder of his parents' _failed_ marriage. While Scott considered himself as a somewhat successful product of the marriage, beside himself, the watch was the only thing that worked in the relationship and now that the watch stopped working after the battery had run out ( _Along with his constant screw-up's that often endangered him and the people he care about_.), he's afraid that there's nothing that can redeem whatever his parents had.

Scott's chest grew heavy. What if his existence was a mistake along with his parents' marriage?

While Scott was busy with self-pity, he picked up this depressing chemo-signal right beside him. It was from Stiles, concentrated at staring at the dented and damaged piece of folded metal in his hand. It was his father's badge, crushed by Kali. Immediately, Scott felt guilty. He felt like he had all the problems in the world when there was Stiles who had seemed to have inherited all the misfortune the Universe could bestow upon someone—his best friend lost his mother at such a young age ( _Scott honestly wouldn't know what to do should anything happen to his mother_.), and for a moment just after losing her, he almost lost his Dad to grief.

Scott's eyes darted towards the badge in Stiles' hand. To him, the badge meant many things. For starters, it meant that whatever he had been doing with Stiles has got to stop because they would end up in _deep_ shit and they'd be grounded for weeks on end before they'd be allowed to hang out around each other. But besides the premonition of trouble the badge brought to him, the folded piece of metal happened to give Scott a sense of safety and security. Police and law enforcement became a touchy subject for Scott after his father suddenly took off without a word or a single goodbye, but with Stiles' Dad, Scott felt comfort and he felt so safe around him. Lastly, Scott felt like he had a father when the badge came off.

He remembered all the late nights his Mom had to pull off, the need of covering for other nurses' shifts because the hospital had a shortage of employees and staff back then when he was young. It was the Sheriff, back then still a deputy, who agreed to watch over him even if Stiles happened to be too much of a handful. It was the Sheriff who agreed to go and fetch him from school when his Mom received a call from the nurse's office that he was down with the flu.

Mr. Stilinski was more than a family friend or Beacon Hill's Sheriff. No, to Scott, he's his father. And Stiles, his brother.

Scott gave Stiles a pat on the shoulder and earned a tight smile. The movement in front of him jarred him back to reality. "These anchors may not look much in the moment," Scott stared at Deaton when he had opened a jar and took a handful of this black powder and generously poured it into the metal tubs. "In fact, they may look worn down and broken to some. To people with no emotional connection, your anchors may look like trash, even," Scott's mind wandered to Isaac.

Did he have an anchor that could have connected him to his father besides his anger and his wish to bring him back alive only so he could kill the man _himself_?

Dipping his hand into the ice water of each tub, Deaton spoke up, obviously left unshaken by the freezing temperature. "These items you've chosen, these material objects may not seem much but after crossing the boundary of life and death, after transferring your subconscious into the spiritual realm, once you've tapped into _other_ side of the supernatural world, your anchors' form will have changed into something more defined. Perhaps it will take its form before to suit your memory much better and to serve as better anchors," Scott could see the confusion written all over Stiles' face.

Stiles coughed up, his eyes still drawn to the badge in his hand. "But didn't you say that appearances didn't matter?" Scott could see that Allison's face held confusion, her fingers in a tight fist in an attempt to envelope her father's bullet. Her knuckles were already white with the force she had been exerting to keep herself in check. "That it's the sentimental value that matters?"

Scott only saw it once, the silver bullet her father had made after completing his training to become a werewolf hunter. He remembered the cloudy metal, how it had lost its glimmer and shine. It was covered in dust and dirt, dents and scratches scattered all over the small bullet.

Scott felt like the bullet represented Argent himself. The bullet was worn and damaged, just like Argent after everything he's went through and after everyone he's lost in the way.

Deaton spoke up. "That may be true," Stiles kept watching the veterinarian as Scott felt the watch grow heavier by the minute. He didn't bother controlling his heart beat for Isaac. He's too tired now. "But these items you've chosen, they aren't just just objects that can weigh all of you down to your lives and to your respective humanities," a jar was opened and Scott inhaled the scent of mint leaves before the green sprigs were thrown into the tubs. "They're also _triggers_ —you chose the these material possessions because they hold sentimental value, a memory that could give you the will to fight when you will have lost your ability to believe in a cause much like any other memory or any other anchor." Deaton held his hand out.

Scott suddenly felt all that all eyes were on him. "Scott, would you mind lending me that watch?" reluctantly, Scott gave his boss the watch before he had tossed it to Isaac. Scott almost cringed at the sight, momentarily forgetting about the fact that Isaac himself was a werewolf who could catch the watch at a moment's notice. "Tell me, what do you see in this watch?"

Isaac held it with two fingers at one of the strap's end. Scott was so afraid that he'd drop it as easily as he had watched his parents' marriage crumble before his eyes, like how easy it was to wake up in the middle of the night only to hear his parents shouting at each other or hearing his mother cry until she lost her voice. He remembered the tears. Scott gulped. His mother was crying and he did nothing.

"Besides being old? The glass is broken and the battery's dead," Deaton nodded and gestured for him to bring it back to Scott, who gripped it inside his hands for as tight as he could without breaking the old watch.

"Now, Scott, I want you to smell the watch and tell me of what you've observed," as much as Scott wanted to ditch the whole humanities lesson, he followed and lifted the watch closer to his face and sniffed it. At first, he only smelled himself and the clammy hand he had when he took the watch from the jewelry box from his Mom's room. But then, he smelled something different, something familiar. Scott caught his mother's scent, but more importantly, he caught a chemo-signal and she seems so happy and along with that old chemo-signal was an equally old scent of his father.

"She's happy. With my _Dad_ , she was happy." Scott felt like he could breathe again with the weight lifted off of his chest. His lungs no longer felt like they were being squeezed by this weight that seemed to suffocate him all along.

 _Maybe he wasn't a mistake, after all._

"And that's how you'll need your anchors. Scott, just earlier you were thinking of a possibility where maybe, your existence was a mistake. Just like _that_ , with darkness inside your heart, you could have easily given up." Deaton stepped forward and gave Scott an embrace before adding a pinch of brown powder to the ice water. "You will all be shrouded in darkness while you're in the spiritual realm, a lot of negativity and evil spirits trying to trap you down there— _or worse, try and possess you to gain access to our world_ —you will be at your weakest and lowest point," Deaton gave a small smile. "But, when you reach that certain point, you are all open to your greatest change."

"Don't doubt ourselves. Don't be brooding teenagers, _got it_ ," Stiles muttered to himself, readying himself by folding his pants. "Yup, no problem, no biggie."

"Oh, and another thing, should you doubt yourselves, your anchors will help bring you back—just like with Scott. But your anchors can only hold so much and there's nothing I can do to protect your anchor." Deaton placed a hand on Stiles' shoulder. "Do not lose your anchors, and protect it as much as you can— _do not break it, do not allow any spirit_ _ **to**_ _break it_ —because if you lose your tether to this realm, there's so little a druid can do to bring any of you back, not to mention the dangers of using a _broken_ anchor to bring you back." Scott gave Stiles a look. There was a silent goodbye and an unspoken exchange of thanks for everything they've done to each other.

Finally, Scott stepped forward and got inside the tub. The moment his skin met the water, he closed his eyes and shivered. His breathing slowed down and his head ached. The water was just _too_ damn cold for him. "Hey Scott?" Scott's attention was called out, his head turned to a side only to see his best friend shivering as much as he was. "If I don't make it out of this and you do," Scott wanted to tell him not to think that way. That he wasn't going to die from this, but it was like Scott lost the ability to speak. "I want you to know that your Dad's back in town," Scott shook his head.

The last thing he needed was another person to explain the whole supernatural situation to. And the last responsibility he needed was another life to protect.

"Thanks," Scott muttered before he saw Allison, shivering. He was about to call out when he saw Isaac behind her, whispering small words of encouragement. Shaking off the hurt, Scott gave Deaton a look and a nod. "I'm ready if you are," Deaton gave everyone a signal and soon, Scott felt dizzy with his water being covered with ice water. After blacking out, Scott felt like he was floating, like his spirit was being separated from his body before he shot up from the tub, gasping for air.

"Godspeed, you'll need it—the longer you're there, the harder it is for all of you to get back." Deaton's voice faded away and soon there was nothing.

The first thing Scot had noticed was the bright florescent lights that covered the room he was in. Scott remembered Deaton's words just earlier, how they would be shrouded in darkness. It was kind of inaccurate seeing that he was being blinded by the annoyingly bright, white light the room had. He could have closed his eyes and slumped back into the tub for a few more minutes if it weren't for Stiles fishing him out of the tub, asking if he was alright.

"Yeah," Scott answered absentmindedly, his eyes trying to avoid the sight of Allison. Scott saw in the corner of his eyes was a tree stump and he knew what it was. The tug in his heart and in his stomach told him what the stump exactly was and he knew that he had to get to it. He wanted to run but there was something in the back of his mind that yelled at him, begged him not to forget. Scott drummed his fingers against his leg until he realized he had both free hands and that the watch was left inside the tub.

He walked back to the metal tub, water laying all around it, only to find the bronze and leather watch sitting at the bottom, with a sound coming from it. Fishing it out, Scott stared at the repaired watch. It looked like it was brand new, like it was made just yesterday. "I know, it's cool, right?" Stiles showed his father's badge, free of dents, unbent, and the colors didn't fade away. "Or is the magical object healing not impressive enough for your little, furry, werewolf ass?" Scott laughed before pushing himself to his feet.

"Definitely impressed." Scott smiled as he saw Allison, looking at her father's bullet. It was like it was just forged. "You okay?" Scott asked her, taking her hand to lead her to the Nemeton.

"Yeah, I'm okay," he could tell from her heart beat that she was lying but he could also tell that she didn't want to talk about it just yet. Scott knew that he didn't have any right to invade or to pry on the subject. Instead, he just enveloped her into his tight hug he used to give her when they weren't awkwardly trying to avoid each other, trying to look away when they caught each other staring.

"We'll find your Dad," Scott faced Stiles and started leading them towards the Nemeton, which seemed like an eternity away. "We _will_ get our parents back, you know that," Scott promised when he stopped in his tracks, his feet frozen as he stood in front of the Nemeton. He felt its power surge through its aura. There was this significant amount of energy that repelled Scott, but the thought of his mother hurt weighed more. His priority was to find their parents.

The rings of the trunk oddly made Scott think of his tattoo. His finger slowly grazed his skin, staring at the black bands in wonder.

Reaching out, Scott placed a hand on the Nemeton's stump.

He closed in eyes, anticipating something bad to happen to him. He braced himself for pain or for this deafening loud ringing to sound but there was nothing. Scott sighed, ready to open his eyes and face defeat when he's heart something like a branch or a twig cracking under the pressure of a person's weight. Immediately, Scott's eyes flew open and he was no longer inside the bright room and was suddenly transported into Beacon Hills Preserve, his mouth hanging open as he watched his younger self tumble down a slope.

Scott inched forward, wanting to warn his younger self when suddenly, there was this sound of rustling. His younger self was paying no attention to the sound probably because he couldn't hear it. It made sense to him because this was the night he got bitten by Peter, and his younger self didn't have the super-werewolf hearing abilities. _Yet_. Finally, his younger self screamed in pain and Scott remembered how it felt having his skin tore apart when Peter bit him and made him a werewolf.

Scott didn't want to watch. It was like seeing a train crash in slow motion and he was trapped with no way to escape. He didn't want to see how his life was ruined by a single night's mistake. So, Scott took a step back, not bothering to turn around, when he suddenly felt the back of his foot hit something that radiated power. Slowly turning his head, Scott _finally_ saw the Nemeton, smacked right in the middle of the preserve and seemingly invisible to his younger self.

Finally, Scott's eyes flew open, seeing the panting forms of his friends and wide-eyed. "I saw it. I know where it is," Stiles muttered under his breath, knowing too well that Scott could hear him no matter how low it was. "The night you got bitten, when we were searching for the body, in the preserve!" Scott nodded, staring in awe at the stump that seemed to reveal so much, just feeling the power the Nemeton radiated as he stood by its side. Stiles kept staring at the stump, too. "We just passed it. This huge stump, this _huge_ tree—well, it's not huge anymore, it's cut down, but it's still big. Very, _very_ big." Stiles had this look of disbelief.

Allison nodded, placing her hand on one of her hips. "Yeah, I saw it, too." Allison seemed to recount the events in her mind. "I was there, too, in the Preserve," there was this deep expression etched on Allison's face and Scott had to fight this urge to take her into his arms. He loved and hated that look. He loved that look on her face and yet he hated the power it had over him. "I was in the car with my mother. We almost hit someone, and I tried to help but it was too dark," Scott stared at Allison with wide eyes.

Scott placed a hand on his chest as they started making their way towards the metal tub. "It was me. You almost hit _me_." Allison had gasped, realizing all along how connected their lives are. "And now, we can find it. We can find our parents," Scott paused for a moment and stared at the watch inside his hand. Maybe after finding his Mom, he'd try and find the relationship he thought he'd lost with his father. Maybe, he can reconnect after this.

"Scotty, come on!" Scott's head turned towards Stiles, who was already way ahead of him and about to hop inside the tub. Inside Stiles' hand was his father's badge and his face held so much hope. "Come on, we have to find our parents," despite the hope that was shone so bright on his best friend's face, he saw the doubt. Stiles was scared, terrified even of the possibility that he could lose his father. Scott inched forward, ready to comfort him when he saw _it_.

Scott didn't know what ' _it_ ' exactly was because it was nothing more of a menacing shadow that lurked in the dark that seemed to lunge for Stiles. But Scott didn't care, it was still going after Stiles and he would readily give his life for his brother. "Stiles, what's that by your—" Scott didn't finish what he started, he cut himself off by yelling Stile's name, tackling his best friend to the side and feeling some thing pass through him. Something like a cold wind that seemed to suck the oxygen out of his lungs.

" _Scott_!" Allison— _her voice made his heart ache knowing well that he lost her to Isaac_ —shouted as Scott battled the shadow that took a form of a man. The form was faceless, but Scott could make out from the dark figure that his face was covered in bandages, like a mummy with tattered clothes and a blood-stained shirt. Scott felt something beneath him crack and he hoped that maybe it was the tiles. "Look out!" managed to claw the figure, and despite his hand passing through the spirit, Scott drew blood and soon, the shadow retreated into the darkness that eventually faded back into the bright corner it once was.

Scott used his hand to stand up but he hissed when his hand was bleeding with a piece of white glass stuck and piercing his skin. " _Shit_!" he fished the shard out of his palm, taking a moment to look at the clear glass stained by red with his blood. Scott's blood dripped to the white floor, the white tiles suddenly marked by his blood when he realized something—the floor was unscathed by the fight and the tiles weren't anything like mirror. Scott threw a look over his shoulder and saw Stiles kneeling.

Scott didn't need to go near his best friend to know what was broken. "What's going on?" Allison asked, her voice filled with uncertainty and with fear, asking a question she knew well what the answer was. Suddenly, Allison rushed forward and took the watch from Stiles' hands despite being covered in little sharp shards of glass.

Allison was near hysterical, Scott could tell that much when he took her into his arms. "I'm sorry, I— _I_ tried my best," Scott murmured against her hair, pressing small kisses on her forehead to calm her down because that always seemed to do the trick when she was upset. "You just. . .you have to go back now, Allison," Scott shot a look of urgency at Stiles. "Both of you, you need to go back _now_. It's not safe here." Allison squirmed away from his embrace, leaving Scott feeling the cold.

Scott wasn't going to make it out of this mess. At least, he had died saving their parents. Maybe he'd watch over them, guide them finish the problem with the Alpha Pack once and for all.

Allison looked like in denial, like she wasn't going to accept any of this. " _No_ ," she took the watch and slammed it inside of his hand. "Listen, you have got to try, Scott, because you're not just anyone—you're a true alpha, so I need you to try and fight," Scott sighed. Allison would be the hardest part of his life to let go but he needs to because there's no way. Scott opened his mouth to protest, to try and reason with her but Stiles had managed to beat him to it.

Allison tried to push him towards the tub but she stopped when Stiles finally yelled. "Don't you remember? It's dangerous to use a broken anchor, in fact it's dangerous to use a broken anything!" Stiles slumped back and there was a moment of silence between the three and all Scott could hear was the heavy pounding of his best friend's heart. "It's dangerous enough to use something broken back in our normal lives, I won't risk Scott using a broken anchor that could wipe him from existence!" Stiles threw his arms in the air before he finally cracked.

Stiles and Allison seemed to have entered a yelling match-off and all Scott could do was watch. "Well I am not leaving Scott behind!" Allison retorted, pointing an accusing finger at Stiles. "Because unlike you, I won't leave him when he needs someone most!" Scott cringed at the accusation. It was too much to say of Stiles, especially because it wasn't true. Stiles would never abandon him, not willingly.

"And what are you, the Buddha of sticking with people until the end?" Stiles spat, waving his arms frantically in the air to make some point and get it across. "You weren't the one who picked up the pieces when you shattered his heart into a gazillion pieces! I wasn't the one who shoved Isaac right into an open wound! I was not the one who turned on the people who counted on me the moment everything went sour!" Scott finally stepped forwards to try and break the fight off.

"My Mom died, that's a bit more than just everything going sour!" Allison defended.

"Yeah, well, I wasn't the one who blamed Scott for almost dying when your Mom decided to suffocate him with _freakin_ ' wolfsbane!" Scott stood in between the two, but there was no use, the two kept fighting.

"Well, I wasn't the one who dragged out my best friend to the middle of the woods only to ruin his life just because I couldn't handle being alone!" her tone was cruel but it was met with silence. Scott had enough of the fighting, but it was too late. The damage was done and Stiles was left silent. Allison realized her mistake when she stepped forward, her voice caught in her throat. She tried to reach for Stiles, but he stepped back, still in shock. "Stiles, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to say that. . .I said that in the heat of the moment, but they—those words don't mean _anything_ , you know that."

Stiles' head was hung low. "But that doesn't make it any less true," Scott decided, in that moment, to envelope Stiles in a tight embrace. "I don't want to leave you, Scott," he felt himself shed tears and slowly the truth began to make itself more noticeable. The truth hung heavy and the weight was starting to take its toll after Stiles tried to regain his composure. "Allison's right. We can't leave you behind, not until we're sure that you can come back," Allison came closer and nodded.

"We're a pack, Scott, and we can't lose our alpha, not _you_ ," Scott tried to convince himself that Allison was saying that as a member of his pack and not as a person who used to mean so much to her.

But it didn't make any difference because it was still as hard. Hearing her beg him, seeing her tears as she tried to convince him to try. It's a hopeless case, Scott could feel it in his bones that he would stay behind. "Someone has to hold you both under," Stiles' voice broke as he repeatedly shook his head and pursed his lips. "Listen, our parents need our help and time here, it's different back in our world so we have got to stop this, okay?" Scott walked towards the tubs.

Never in Scott's life did he ever thought that he'd die inside one.

Taking Stiles' hand, Scott grabbed the badge that sat on the floor and pressed it against his best friend's chest. "Save your father," Scott tried hiding his breaking voice but he couldn't, not when he saw his life flash by his eyes, the memories he has with Stiles knowing that he couldn't make more. This was the end for him and Stiles, so it seems, as Scott helped his best friend into the tub, seemingly filled to the brim with ice cold water. "Tell my Mom that I'm sorry," Stiles nodded before grabbing him into a tight embrace.

"I'll try and come back for you. I'll save you, Scott," Scott smiled at the thought of being brought back, but it was a possibility so remote that he couldn't bring himself to hope.

"I'm really glade you broke my sand castle," Stiles gave a teary laugh before burying his face into the crook of his neck. Tears and sobs were heard as Allison kept wiping her tears. Scott made a mental note to thank Allison for giving him a moment with Stiles, knowing well that this was the last time he'd see his best friend in this life.

But at the same time, Scott also dreads the moment he'd have alone with Allison. He wouldn't know how to handle his last time being alone with the woman he loves— _his first and_ _ **only**_ _love_ —knowing that once she goes back, she'll be happy with someone else. "Someone had to," Stiles said through tears and his sniffling. "Couldn't let some doofus without a degree in either engineering or architecture go around and design buildings. . .besides, it was a really crappy sand castle," Stiles muttered against Scott's shoulder.

Scott ignored his best friend's insults. He knew that it was some sort of defense mechanism. He was never one to say those feelings out loud. "Well," he played along, his fingers balling up into a knuckle to stop him from becoming a sobbing mess, "I'm glad I had a fellow fraud to help me create a new one," there was a teary chuckle and Stiles finally let go. Scott took a good look at his best friend, for one last time as he stood inside the metal tub.

Stiles sighed, his body relaxed and his tone resigned in defeat. "I hate being so powerless in saving you. Makes me feel like some sort of burden—" Scott cut Stiles off.

Scott shook his head. "Stop it, okay? You're not a burden and you're not powerless!" there was authority in Scott's voice that he never really knew held. "Listen, if the tables were turned and you were the one who I have to leave behind. . .I wouldn't be able to do that but _you_ can because you're so powerful, Stiles, you're so strong that you can make this sacrifice!" Scott dusted Stiles' wet clothes and gave him a firm pat on the shoulder. "So stop feeling sorry for yourself because you shouldn't. You may have been Robin, but he's just as important as Batman." Scott took his best friend's hand into his and gave it a tight squeeze.

"So, what? Now I'm Batman?" Scott nodded.

"Someone needs to be Batman when I'm gone," Scott's jaw tightened. "Someone needs to be there for Isaac, for Deaton, for my Mom. . ." Scott took a moment to think of his Mom. How long will he be in this place before his heart comes to an abrupt stop? He hopes it won't be too long then, because if there's one thing Scott is utterly terrified of, it's the possibility of forgetting what his Mom looked like, or what her scent was, or how her voice rises when she sees the messy when he's still sleeping. "I need to be sure that everybody will be alright." Scott felt his voice break.

"I'll make sure they're alright," Stiles choked through his sobs as he lowered himself into the tub, Scott seeing the water soak his clothes again. "That's my job, right? The pack's very own _overgrown puppy_ -sitter."

Scott took a moment to calm himself and steady his breathing. He needs to be someone who can bring Stiles back into their world, to their dimension, and he's no good if he couldn't stop his feelings from controlling him. Scott wouldn't risk his best friend's life. "Then I need you to promise me, Stiles, that everyone, _including you_ , will be alright," Scott noticed the change in Stiles' heartbeat and in seconds' time, his best friend began shaking his head.

"Why'd you have to be so selfless, Scott?" Stiles asked as he slowly lowered himself, water reaching his face.

Scott sighed. " _Stiles_ ," his voice had this edge. He needed to make sure that the people he loves will be alright after he dies.

Stiles tossed his arms in the air, sending droplets of water to go flying everywhere. "You can't ask me to keep everyone safe knowing that the person I want to keep safe the most is stuck in this place, dying, and you're just gone then!" Stiles broke, wiping his tears every now and then even though more would streak his face. "You can't just leave me when you're the one person I count on being around, Scott! You're my brother, and you can't leave and you can't ask that of me!" Stiles yelled and Scott could hear both of their hearts break into a million, tiny pieces.

Scott's known Stiles for so long that he couldn't really imagine much of his life before him. All he could honestly remember was the proud look on his face, finishing a sand castle without his father's help when a boy with uncoordinated locomotive suddenly smashed into his sandcastle, sighing in relief because Scott only found out later that Stiles had turning the whole beach upside down for a restroom and the closest alternative he could think of was crashing into a sand castle and pissing himself.

Stiles was there for him when his father took off, not a single word, not even a goodbye. Scott remembered crying so hard, asking if he was someone even worth loving— _because dads walking out on kids works wonders for someone's self-esteem!_ —but Stiles was there, always with a bucket of Ben & Jerry's cookie dough ice cream.

In turn, Scott was there when Stiles' Mom died. He was there when the Sheriff arrived, he was with Stiles when machines started beeping off like crazy. He was with his best friend when they were being ushered out of the room, no one answering Stiles' questions about his Mom. They were both told lies, that Aunt Claudia was going to be fine, but Scott knew. The both of them did and the only thing he could do was buy him a cup of frozen yogurt from the hospital canteen when he knew that Stiles' sanity was hanging on a piece of thread much like how his head was barely cupped inside his hands.

Scott calmed himself down slowly took deep breaths. "You know that I won't forgive your little werewolf ass for this, right?" Scott nodded as he took his place behind Stiles, placing his hands on his best friend's shoulder, hearing his heart beat and the little warmth he could offer knowing that this was their last moment. Scott and Stiles against the world would be no more as the dynamic duo will be a spectacular solo.

Scott gulped, feeling the guilt of having to leave his best friend in the world both with the responsibility of keeping the pack together— _at least as safe as they could be_ —while leaving him to deal with the fact that almost everyone he loves is leaving behind.

"I know, and I'm sorry, Stiles, for doing this but I will never be too far. I will always with you, by your side." Stiles' gave a shaky breath of air as a type of acknowledgement.

Scott sighed he saw the back of Stiles' head move, hearing the steady heartbeat to let him know that it's time. "I know, Scott," before the three words can continuously break Scott's resolve, he pushed Stiles down into the water and focused on his heartbeat for one last time. It still rang clear in his ears, despite the violently loud thrashing Stiles is doing while inside the tub, but it inevitably faded out into silence.

Scott felt pain in his palm. He hissed when he saw the wound, realizing that his nails had been digging into his hand for so long. _But it's okay_ , Scott reassured himself, because just when he stopped hearing Stiles' heart beating, he heard it go steady before going on to do a gymnast's routine. _Lydia Martin_ , the thought popped into Scott's mind because he knew that there was only one person who could make Stiles' heart beat like his overactive and spastic self.

It was Lydia Martin who Stiles first saw. He's back, and now Scott will never see his best friend again.

Once Scott was sure Stiles' no longer needed his tether to the other side, Scott broke down to the floor and cried as hard as he can. His lungs were filled with this unusual pain that made his heart ache with every breath he took. Stiles may have lost his best friend today, but Scott lost his whole life in an effort to save the people he loves.

Suddenly, Allison's heartbeat resurfaced after all those noise. He could hear the shifting of her feet, how she would ball her fingers into a fist and press it against her lips to prevent a sob from escaping them. Scott could hear it from a mile, actually. He could hear her silent whimpers that she so desperately tried to hide; the sniffling noise her nose gave off that would have been cute if it had been caused by her allergies and not by losing a friend; and lastly, the sound that her clothes would make whenever she wiped a tears from her eyes.

Scott wanted to thank her. His mouth hung ajar but his words were stuck in his throat, feeling incapable of saying anything to her.

Scott turned to face her. "We have to get you back now, Allison," there was nothing from her. Not a single sound, not a change in her pulse, nothing that would have told Scott that she wanted something and not the other. It pained Scott, how they drifted apart, how the distance between them grew, how they became so estranged with one another that they're no better than strangers with an awkward past like a one-night stand.

But she shook her head. "No, I'm not leaving you," Scott's heart ached. How could he let go when she refused to. "Deaton can find a way now that Stiles is out there and you might need someone else to help you," Allison listed off, her tone flat and unchanging despite the obvious tell-tale signs in her voice that told Scott that she had been crying while he was trying to get Stiles back into their world.

"This isn't up for discussion, Allison, you have to leave," Deaton's name brought memories to Scott. While his boss is a remarkable man, the one thought that stood out the most was that the longer they stay in this realm, the harder it was to get them out and Scott couldn't risk Argent having to bury both wife and daughter in such a short time. "We have to get you back and I need you to get in this tub."

Scott remembered one of their dates once. How he's comment that the whole ' _Romeo & Juliet: Star-crossed lovers_' romance thing was getting tiring and it wasn't easy for Scott because there was always the threat of death. He remembered that she just laughed at his complaint, that she leaned in to him before he held her tight in his arms. Scott remembered looking at the stars of the dark sky of Beacon Hills with her— _Allison is the most radiant star to be found, if anyone asked Scott_ —before she gave him this look.

Scott hated that look, and yet he loved it. He hated the effect it had on him and loved it on her face.

She wriggled away from his arms, much to his discontent. But soon, she maneuvered her arms and placed her hands on his neck. Scott could feel her breathing against his face and her heartbeat was pretty much on top of his. "I am never, _ever_ going to make it easy for you. Get used to it." He remembered the kiss afterwards. Scott could also remember his brain turning into mush and that he would have stayed in that moment forever if it weren't for the gasping sound Stiles made when Allison's parents were almost home ( _He had Danny make a small tracking device and placed it on Argent's SUV_ ).

Allison Argent never made things easy for him. In fact, she made things a hell of a lot more complicated than it should have been and while he would have been better off if he never did bother her, he wouldn't change a thing. Scott would make the same choices over and over again if it lead him to her, if it gave him a moment's time of a day because she's worth it to him. Allison is worth so much more, she deserves so much more, but he's selfish enough to feel her in his arms.

Scott crossed his arms, challenging Allison, ready to reason with her. "One good reason," at first she was confused, but she caught on fast. Soon, her hands moved from her waist and crossed her torso with a defiant look on her face. "Three tries to give me one good reason on why you should stay and I'll let you stay without question but I need you to give me a reason first." There was tension in the atmosphere and the silence seemed to hard to break.

Allison's expression never did change. "I've told you, Deaton might find some way and you might need someone to—" Scott shook his head.

"Not good enough."

Allison's expression hardened and her resolve got even stronger. Scott could hear her pulse racing. "The Bestiary, it mentioned some kind of trigger from the inside and not from the other and it requires two—" Scott spoke up again, his jaws grinding as he grew tired of the tirade, of the lie she tried to come up with.

"Not good enough."

Scott could tell that Allison was damn near her breaking point. "My. . .the bullet got scratched and—" Scott finally lost his cool when Allison's pulse jumped for the second time.

She resorted to lying again.

Scott felt so much pain and hurt when Allison lied right to his face again. He knew that she needed space, that she needed to get that image of betrayal and of darkness out of her head. Scott knew that they weren't working out in the end but Allison meant so much to him and he's never lie to her. He'd expect the same from her but all he got was a stupid lie.

A random thought crossed Scott's mind. Were they too estranged now? That they're no better than strangers with an awkward past? Is the distance between them far too great that they can't even be friends who wouldn't lie to each other's face?

Apparently not.

" _Bullshit_ , Allison!" Scott yelled, his mind blinded by rage that she could manage to both break his heart and lie to him as if their past was nothing. "I've given you three tries and I've held up my end of the bargain, Allison, now it's time to hold up yours." There was a tiny voice inside Scott's head that said she did hold up her end of the bargain. Allison promised that she'd never make it easy for him, Scott finally experienced the rock and hard place.

Scott pointed to the tub before he closed the distance between them, grabbing her arm to drag her into the tub himself. Scott needed to send her off before he would break, and he's not so sure if he can make it for so long. "Stop it! I'm not leaving!" Allison protested, but he kept pulling hard enough to manage to bring the both of them in front of a tub that would send her back to their world, a tub that would ultimately leave Scott alone to himself before he dies.

"The hell you're not!" Scott looked Allison in the eye before flashing her his eyes. "You're going back there, you're going to save our parents and you're going to live your life like every other teenager there is. You're going to college, you're going to marry some guy your father will probably threaten repeatedly on dinners, you're going to have a white picket fence and everything! You, Stiles, and Lydia, you're going to stop with all this supernatural _shit_ and you're going to live like pretentious Californian residents and you're going to live it for those who can't." Scott finally stopped, the tears finally making a reappearance.

Allison had this effect on people, on him especially. His best laid out plans would come tumbling down to her.

"You have so much potential, Allison, and I will _not_ drag you down," Scott always realized that, even if he weren't a werewolf, the Argents would never truly welcome him. He's too squeamish to pull a trigger and take a life. He never would have been her family's first choice and without the bite, Allison would have never even noticed him. "So unless you can come up with a good reason, then get the fuck inside that tub and—" he was cut off with a yell, a sob almost.

"Fine! You want to hear me say it? It's because I love you!" Scott fell frozen in his tracks, the words lost in his throat as he stared at his ex-girlfriend in front of him. "I like Isaac, but I will always love you and I will always come back to you and I refuse to go back to some world where I won't have you in it." A part of Scott wanted to take her into his arms and just stop caring for the world because the woman he loves still loves him back.

But this wasn't the case. There were far too many to consider, far too much lives to save.

"You already lost me, Allison," Scott remembered a show, how a line struct with his mind for so long that it refused to let go. He shouldn't hold it against Allison for needing space. "We needed time and space to heal and maybe we needed that because we knew to ourselves that we aren't going to work out in the end." Scott felt his heart hammer against his chest, painfully reopening some old wounds he thought has long healed.

"And we took a break! I went away and I started seeing other people because I needed to get that image— _what I suddenly realized what I was capable of_ —out of my mind before I could even consider being with you!" Allison grabbed Scott's arm and gave this look that almost broke his heart. The pleading look that reminded him of the rave when they fought. He remembered how badly she wanted to make up for the mistake she's made and he just ignored her. Maybe that was his mistake.

"And that's what I call a smart move, Allison, because we needed to see things a whole lot more clearly than we did before." Allison had this incredulous look on her face that made Scott's resolve grow weaker by the minute. It really was so hard not to kiss her.

"Is this your way of saying you need more time and space? More than the 3 months and some 7 thousand kilometers that we had last summer? Do you need that much space that you'd have to kill yourself and have your mother bury the body of her only son?" Allison played the guilt card and the thought of his mother floated in Scott's mind before he reminded himself that this is for her. What he's doing is for his Mom and for the people around me.

"I thought you were over this," Scott muttered to Allison, pointing out to their relationship, that they were focusing on becoming friends despite being involved together once. Scott was tempted to point out that she was going to move on with Isaac when she suddenly had this outburst.

"Hell, I'm not!" Allison yelled before taking a fist full of Scott's shirt, pulling him in for a kiss. Scott remembered the last time he's kissed her. They broke up then. He remembered how hard it was for him to stop thinking of her in _that_ way only to find out that he's never stopped thinking of her that way. Scott felt his heartbeat steady itself as Allison broke away from the kiss. "I am _not_ over us," she whispered, her breathing ragged, before weaving her fingers into Scott's hair.

A part of Scott had snapped and he finally stopped. "I'm not over us, too," he felt compelled to say it and he just stopped fighting the urge. Scott needed to say it out loud, too, now that he's heard it from Allison but there's a tiny voice inside him that made him stop. So, when Scott broke from the embrace, Allison gave him a weird look as his heart pumped against his chest, giving him this heavy feeling as he tried to block out the noise of a resting heart beat of a happy woman to a heart beat of someone so lost and confused.

Soon, it's about to become the heart beat of a woman so heartbroken.

"Scott?" she held on to him, as if every touch would give him something to reconsider, and while it did, Scott gave her a sad smile and gently pushed her towards the tub.

Scott dug one of his nails into his palm, relishing the pain it felt compared to the more soul-breaking pain he'll feel. "You have to go, Allison," there was, unsurprisingly, a look of disbelief that showed itself on Allison's face. The happy and relieved expression morphed into one of pain killed Scott knowing that he brought her the hurt she should have never felt. "Time's running out and you need to go now," Allison stepped away, two fingers pressed against her lips to stop this angry outburst Scott knew he deserved.

"Why are you doing this?" she hissed as he felt her heart breaking inside his palm.

"Because it's the right thing, you know it, I know it. You have to go back." Scott answered sadly, taking a moment to take her into his arms. Allison fought her way out but he held her tightly in his arms and refused to let her go. "I love you, you need to know that," a broken sob escaped her lips and Scott flinched at the sound. "I'm sorry that I have to do this, I have to let you go because you have no future with me," Allison tried to protest but he cut her off, whispering hushed words of encouragement and of apologies. "I can't let you throw your life away, especially when it means you have to die, too," Scott closed his eyes and remembered for a minute what it's like if he would let her stay.

He would be so happy, having the person he loves with him. But he couldn't rob the world of Allison Argent. He won't be selfish again.

"Why does this have to end like this?!" she yelled in her arms, still writhing in pain. "You know how I felt about you jumping into things like these! You _know_ that I would have wanted you out of these things!" she finally stopped, dropped to the floor as her knees gave. "I told you once, that I didn't like you being in the cross hairs because you would be the victim, and that because you would end up dying. . ." she trailed off as he could hear her sobs coming to an abrupt stop as if to think or remember something.

" _Allison_ —" Scott didn't even get to defend himself when she looked up to him with broken, bloodshot eyes.

Scott could feel the throbbing of her sore throat. He knew how hard it was for her to speak, how hard it was for her to cope. "I've lost my mother, Scott, because of some stupid code that's apparently a whole lot more important than her daughter." Allison gave out a humorless laugh that sounded so wrong to Scott. He cringed at the look of hurt written on her face came to surface as if she was reminiscing the moments when she found out about her mother.

Scott knelt down and took Allison in his arms.

"I have been asking myself, Scott, every _single_ night, why I'm suddenly not enough!" Scott cringed at her words, knowing well where the conversation is heading. " _Christ_ , Scott! Do you know how much it hurts? Having been told that your love isn't enough? That you're not enough?" Scott nodded and pressed a kiss on her temple, rubbing soothing circular patterns on her arm.

"I know," Allison fell silent and remembered the night they broke up. There was a skip in her heart beat that told Scott she knew a lot more than that. His Mom probably told her, probably something about his abandonment issues about his father. "I know what it's like to feel like you're not enough but trust me when I say that you're enough, Allison. You _are_ enough."

Allison breathed in, knowing well to herself that she wasn't going to get anything she wanted to happen. There was silence and tension in the room that gave Scott this eerie feeling in his chest. "You do know that I'm going to hate you, for the rest of my life, for this?" Scott nodded before lifting her up to her feet and helping her into the tub. He tried to get behind her, to hold her down from the shoulder when her grip on his arm remained steady.

 _Allison Argent hates me_. The thought replayed itself in his mind over and over again.

Scott felt like he was punched in the gut, square in the stomach when she said that. He could handle her breaking up with him, he could handle her changing sides, he could even handle her crossing lines, but of all things he couldn't see himself coping with was the thought of Allison hating her and regretting what they had. "I know, and I'm sorry." She flinched, the change in her heartbeat didn't go unnoticed. Scott's smarts finally caught on—she didn't want an apology to be the last thing he'd say to her, she wouldn't want that to be the last memory she has of him.

Scott's facial expression had softened and his voice was soft and gentle. "Allison?" the least he could do was give her a memory of him that wasn't all depressed and gloomy. Not all brooding and hurt.

"Hold me. I want to remember what it feels like to be in your arms." It was a defeated tone that Scott never wanted to hear from her. But he did, so he stood by the tub's side. Scott stepped into the tub and laid down with Allison still in his arms, the water framing her face.

There was a silence between them. Scott didn't like it for one bit.

Scott still rubbed circular patterns on her arm. "Allison, I need to know if you love me more than you'll hate what I'm going to do," there was no reply from Allison. Only a silent sob and her heart beat told Scott that she was still awake and listening.

Allison refused to answer so Scott felt like it was really wrong to hold her down.

"Move on, okay?" there was no answer from Allison, only a strangled sob that was followed by rushed breathing.

Defeated, Scott placed one final kiss on Allison's hand before submerging it back into the water. There was a small amount of time and a deafening silence that said everything that was meant to be said. Before long, Allison took a deep breath of air and Scott finally held her down, feeling her thrashing up close and hearing her heart beat slowly fade away into the other side, leaving him alone in whatever the place was.

Scott didn't move from his spot. He continued to stay in Allison's tub for what seemed like days and months when it all was just a total of 2 hours, trying to remember his best friend and— _ex?_ —girlfriend's scent before it finally faded away. Deaton's voice suddenly rang in his mind, telling him that it was hard for him to be brought back after spending so much time.

Scott gave up hope and began to close his eyes when the once bright room's lights one by one began to turn itself off. Scott gulped at the sign, seeing the darkness slowly closing in on him. Scott felt the temperature drop so suddenly when he realized that he's not alone in the room anymore.

The shadows that lurked around the room began closing in on him at a record speed. He could feel their aura—all the hate and the negativity, the evil that hung in the air. Scott gulped, realized that he's dying and now he won't be around for anyone to get.


	2. Powerless — Stiles

**_Powerless — Stiles_**

* * *

 ** _Here is the second installment to the one-shot about an AU finale to Season 3A! Told from Stiles' perspective, picks up after he left purgatory._**

* * *

The first thing Stiles noticed was the cold water.

He heard his own pulse above the noise that was happening around him, the flurry of action that gave him a headache when he finally opened his eyes and sat up before he was suddenly enveloped by a white, fluffy towel and by the arms of one Lydia Martin. "You're back," she said, her voice scratchy and her eyes blood shot. He gave her a dazed look and realized that she had been crying, and while he would be over the moon on every other day because Lydia fucking Martin is hugging him, he noticed Deaton standing by Scott's tub.

Stiles stood up, not noticing that he was on the floor with his back pressed against the wall in the first place and saw what was happening: Deaton had been reading a book and reciting enchantments in front of Scott, Isaac was trying to get Allison to wake up, and he was alive for some reason he couldn't really wrap his mind around. Scott, a small voice in Stiles' head told him as he found himself walking towards the tub, seeing for himself what was happening to Scott.

Scott's arm was slung over the edge of the tub, the watch— _or what seemed to be the remains of the watch_ —was in the floor, Scott's black blood was dripping all over the floor, and finally the tub's water was dark and murky all over. Stiles didn't need to be a doctor or a nurse or any person studying medicine to know that Scott was losing a dangerous amount of blood. With the pitch black color of the water and the amount of blood pooling on the ground, Stiles knew that the only thing keeping his brother alive was Deaton's enchantments and the herbs he's been throwing in the tub like it was a cauldron.

For a second, Stiles didn't recognize Deaton. The vet was usually calm and collected, seeing him in a panicked rush was a change in perspective, a punch in the gut knowing that he could have done something to avoid this and yet he didn't. He left Scott in purgatory, and so many people are affected because he's dying. ". . . _saxa mundare_ ," Deaton stopped for a second, his hands hanging by his side as if he was waiting for something to happen. Stiles was waiting for Scott to wake up and give him this puppy look, asking him to forgive him, and that would have been water under the bridge.

But Scott was still lying unresponsive and unconscious inside the tub, like Allison who was still deep in her ice bath sleep.

A part of Stiles wandered what was taking so long for Scott to bring Allison back when he remembered who he was actually thinking about. That was Allison Argent, a friend willing to turn on her own family. Stiles remembered another detail, Scott and Allison loved—no, Stiles shook his head. They _love_ each other and that would remain that way even if Allison ends up with Isaac or if Scott ends up with someone else. Stiles had this mental note, that whatever happened, they would always have each other's backs because they love each other and that doesn't magically fade away.

Their feelings for one another won't magically fade away, like his feelings for Lydia seem to stay on his mind like some kind of tattoo because it's permanent. No matter how many times he'd try to scrub it away, it's just a scar refusing to fade away. His love for Lydia sometimes mirrors Allison and Scott's relationship—if only Stiles could just do what people around him keeps telling him, to just stop loving Lydia, he would but he couldn't because what he feels for her isn't some disposable feeling. No, what he has for Lydia, it's worth fighting for.

That's the kind of relationship Scott and Allison have, it's something worth fighting for, a feeling that isn't fleeting. Their feelings for each other won't disappear. A small part of Stiles still believes, actually that the two would somehow, almost magically, end up together after everything that would happen to them. He kept clinging to the thought of bursting through the doors of the cafeteria to see them cuddling and being so profoundly open with their affection, so disgustingly sweet that he'd end up with Type 2 diabetes.

But that belief is wavering in front of Stiles as he watched his best friend growing paler by the second, as Lydia kept sobbing by the corner, and as Isaac kept silent by Allison's tub. Stiles guessed that he finally stopped trying and started to just beg some kind of god to wake her up.

He couldn't stand the room, the people in it. Stiles saw the results of his weakness, he had allowed the darkness to thrive in that room. He remembered what Deaton told them, about not being broody and temperamental teenagers and he tried, God, he tried his best. Tears fell and his fingers balled up into a fist. "Crying doesn't mean you're weak. It means you've been strong for too long," a quote streamed along in his mind. Stiles would have said that to Scott, but he never got the chance.

Now for some reason, for some haunting and bone chilling reason, he's hearing Scott's voice whenever he's crying.

It's almost pathetic, Stiles thought to himself, how ridiculously fitting the quote is for Scott, for him to give and receive that quote.

Without changing his clothes, Stiles went outside unnoticed and headed for his Jeep.

Starting the engine, Stiles placed his elbow on top of the back rest, checking if there was anyone from the Alpha Pack going after him after all the good faith of Scott's deal was botched by the surrogate sacrifice ritual they've done when he spotted something that made his heart ache in a way that Stiles could only cope with crying. He saw the passenger seat, empty and all neat. Scott usually sat there, leaving a huge mess behind before leaving the Jeep, always earning a glare and all he could do was give this puppy-eyes look that melted him.

Stiles sobbed at the memory, but he pulled himself together, forcing himself to drive to the Nemeton. A part of Stiles knew that Scott had dark thoughts, too, and hope sparked in his mind that maybe if everything was solved— _if only he could end the stupid little grudge that psychotic Darach has on the alpha pack, something like recommending a shrink_ —then maybe Scott would be given hope, too. Maybe all he needs is a little push, and by little, Stiles means a tackle enough to bust a steel door open.

Pressing on the gas peddle, the Jeep surged forward and Stiles found himself on a road, driving well above the speed limit that could give his father a heart attack should one of his deputies tell him. He made a mental note to thank his father for getting him out of all those speed tickets that would have been enough to get him banned from getting behind a steering wheel. In fact, he'll thank his Dad for anything he'll do because this whole Darach parent-napping isn't just a wake-up call.

It's a fucking NDE and Stiles just wants his Dad, he wants family back together.

And that family includes Scott.

A part of Stiles' mind drifted off to Derek and Cora as he was driving as fast as he can. He grimaced when he remembered Cora's condition last he's heard from Isaac. As much as he hated the sour wolf and his entire clan of eye-rolling werewolves and a psychotic has-been alpha who had to manipulate Lydia into reviving him, he knew that he needed to check on them after all of this. He knew that he has to check on the pack while Scott was somewhere in white room purgatory chilling his little, furry werewolf ass.

Yeah, Stiles thought to himself. Replacement, temporary alpha. He'll get Scott back.

Stiles was jarred back to reality when he saw it, the giant stump that would have been a ginormous tree. He was no supernatural but he could feel the power it radiated, the aura surged through the field growing stronger as the seconds passed by. With a deep breath, Stiles opened the door and slammed it shut before chanting a silent prayer, begging some sort of superpower that's been watching over them to look after his Jeep. Stiles grimaced at the idea of having his Jeep sent to the mechanic all over again.

He froze. Boyd may have been demanding for outrageous prices, but he was a great mechanic. A downright awesome mechanic.

Stiles' jaw tightened as he began walking towards the Nemeton. He'd avenge him, Erica, and every single one of his friends. Scott would be proud of him, but Stiles is determined to step away from Batman's cape. Scott is the leader, the alpha, and he couldn't be him even if he wanted to. That's why he never did accept Peter's bite.

The wind was picking up and it carried the dirt that blinded Stiles every now and then. "Gaah!" he yelled in irritation, being forced to drop to his knees. Stiles breathed in deep—how the hell could he avenge his friends and make Scott proud when he couldn't win against wind and dirt, despite being caused by supernatural means, when there's still this cherry-picked alpha pack and an even more psychotic Darach who is more hell bent on killing than both Kate Argent and Peter Hale?

He just slumped to the ground, feeling disappointment to himself. This is why Scott is dying, he thought to himself, he's always allowing himself to feel like a failure and maybe, this time, he should accept that he is a good for nothing sophomore who couldn't handle the simplest of tasks like walking on a field with dirt. Stiles repeated the thought over to himself and released a breath of air. Even that sounded pathetic and sad, fitting for a failure who is about to become an orpha—

"Stiles?"

Stiles wanted to believe that it was his best friend, Scott, coming to rescue him but there was no one around. He thought that maybe he was dying and that Scott was coming to bring him over to some kind of heaven where he actually got together with Lydia and is miraculously not a virgin. But then again, it wasn't Scott's voice. It wasn't even a guy's voice, it was a familiar and feminine voice that sounded like—"Oh, my God. . .Melissa?" Stiles' ears perked up at the voice and realized it wasn't coming from the Nemeton itself, but a few meters away.

Calming his abnormally fast heart, Stiles thanked the sudden sandstorm for knocking him to his knees and his feet to the ground because he would have never heard it had he been standing when suddenly a thought occurred to him. "Oh, no. Very, very bad," under the Nemeton was a root cellar, a very old root cellar that could have served as a storm shelter and it wouldn't last for long under normal circumstances. The sandstorm raging outside, Stiles gulped at the thought of the Darach, was caused by supernatural means.

The root cellar won't hold for very long. Another thought occurred to Stiles. He wouldn't last very long should he go up against a Darach gaining power.

"Melissa! Argent!" Stiles yelled through the raging sand storm, thinking of some way to put it nicely, what he was going to say to them. "Dad! I have to leave, but I'll be back as soon as I can," Stiles didn't wait for a reply or a protest when he stood up and began running away from the Nemeton, closing his eyes shut and covering his face with his arm to protect it from the pieces of dirt and the little pebbles from hitting him square in the face or from getting wounded.

He would be no help whatsoever if he was injured.

Stiles continued running and running until something cold had hit him in the stomach. "Stupid piece of—" Stiles didn't finish when he opened his eyes as he held his stomach. It was his Jeep, his magnificent jeep with an engine that's half duct tape, which he immediately got inside and threw himself into the back seats. "Aha!" he yelled triumphantly, holding the butter knife in the air when something glinted under the passenger seat. It was an aluminum bat and a satisfied smile appeared on his face.

"Very good. Very good, indeed," Stiles inspected, tapping it against the glass gently, careful not to break his only real connection with his Mom. It wasn't much, Stiles knew that it wouldn't hold up for long against the Darach but he knew that it was better than nothing. Suddenly, a sickening crack resounded and he immediately turned his head, only to see his windshield crack with a small stone in place. "Oh, come on! Not the Jeep!" he complained before another stone came flying at him, only to be stopped by side mirror.

Stiles wanted to curse when he suddenly felt the ground shake. He paled at the earthquake. The root cellar wouldn't last long and he needs to get their parents out of it.

Shaken and suddenly afraid of being inside his Jeep, he made a mental note of having a tow truck come and get it once everything calms down. "Time to go." Stiles murmured, grabbing his phone and putting the flashlight application on before launching himself out of the door, running as fast as he could while avoiding the deadly rocks flying towards him at a speed that would have made either Michael Phelps or Usain Bolt a run for their money.

As much as Stiles could, he kept his eyes open and circled the Nemeton around, a few meter away from the actual stump as he searched for some kind of door or hatch that could lead to an underground cellar holding their parents. "Dad!" he yelled at the top of his lungs, his arm still covering his face as he eyed the ground trying to find the hatch and keep himself grounded without falling and getting stupidly injured over some rock or random twig sticking out of the ground.

There was no response, or at least he couldn't hear the response. Stiles gripped the baseball bat tighter as he steadied his hold on his phone, flashing the bright light at the ground and continued circling around the Nemeton. The wind around him kept whistling and he could hear the random things flying around him, barely giving him time to dodge and duck when he realized he should have been doing what he was doing just earlier. Stiles laid flat on his stomach and began crawling.

"Dad!" he yelled, his finger wrapped around both the bat and the phone that gave him little light when he noticed the sky around him dimming. "This is not good." the eclipse was bound to start in a few minutes and he was far from finding their parents when he couldn't move forward. Stiles turned his head and saw that his shoe lace was caught on something. He tried pulling it free but it was no use and he was stuck. The only way he could free himself was going back and freeing himself.

Crawling back, Stiles saw the problem—his shoe lace got caught in a deep and narrow hole underground, probably something sharp tore a hole in it. Flashing the light, Stiles groaned when he couldn't free untangle tug it free before he made a decision to leave his sneakers behind, deciding that it would be better to cash in the favor he would earn with Argent on to buying him a better pair of sneakers that would probably earn him some points with Lydia for having something that isn't from the thrift shop.

Struggling to keep his balance even when sitting down, Stiles placed the bat down but the earth shook, the land sinking and his bat almost rolled away. "Come on, you're not the Gordian knot!" Stiles muttered as he placed the bat under his legs and his phone in his pocket as he tried to loosen the laces on his shoe to get free. "Aha!" his fingers caught unto a small loop and he managed to pull on one of the laces when the earth shook again, stronger this time that sent him slipping down, doing what usually was a dog's trick, and rolled over to a small clearing ending up farther away from the Nemeton.

". . ." the wind kept blowing and whistling, something almost like a pattern.

"Crap!" Stiles muttered and breathed out, hissing in pain when he saw crimson pooling around his sleeve, a small and thin twig sticking out of his skin. Breathing in deep, Stiles grippedthe twig and pulled it out quickly, screaming in pain as he watched the twig land next to something glinting in the light— _the bat!_ —so, Stiles began crawling towards it. "Don't leave me," Stiles rested his head against the aluminum bat, his head making a resounding pound before he lifted his head and gave the bat a look as if it was rude and offending. "Ouch." Stiles muttered when suddenly, everything was dark and he couldn't remember much.

"That doesn't look too good." Stiles heard a familiar voice when his eyes blinked open, fighting off the darkness that would have enveloped him.

" _Ouch_." He said again, feeling much more pain than his head did when he rested his head on the bat, which was pressed against his back in an awfully painful manner that wasn't very comfortable. "Ouch, indeed." Stiles breathed as he pushed himself to his feet. Fishing his phone out of his pocket, he inspected the black screen and sighed in relief when he flashed the light in front of him only to reveal darkness. Stiles has been hearing some voices around him, and for a second, he thought that maybe he hit his head hard enough to get concussed.

"Stiles," in the dark, he saw red eyes. He remembered the story Allison gave him, about that time in the mall when Scott's eyes flashed red and the time Deaton told them about werewolves who became alphas without killing for the power. About it being once in every 100 years. He didn't really know much alphas, he didn't count Peter because he was a psychotic werewolf who had this weird wolf form, and he didn't count Derek because he's not really much of an alpha without a beta (Cora dying, Isaac leaving. . .need I say more?).

So there was only really one option. And no, Stiles thought to himself, it wouldn't be one of the alphas from Deucalion's pack because they wouldn't even try to know his name. They'd just go straight and lunge for his throat like every other supernatural he's known. Scott's eyes— _or so Stiles hoped_ —seemed to try and made him remember something important. Eventually, the blood red orbs faded away in the darkness, coming in the form of another bright color.

A guilty voice popped up in Stiles' mind. Lydia included.

It finally became clearer, Stiles' vision. "You have to get up, you have to remember why you're dizzy." Lydia appeared in front of him, her perfect strawberry-blonde locks framed her face in a way that made Stiles want to fall asleep. A part of Stiles wanted to ask her why she was in Beacon Hills Preserve, never pegging her for an outdoor-sy type of person. A part of him really wanted to ask how she got to him so fast and how the hell she knew that he needed someone. But then again, Stiles mostly just wanted to rest his eyes and sleep.

"You're being noisy. Stop." Stiles murmured, closing his eyes. His throat felt itchy and he coughed. "I want to sleep. Just give me five more minutes." Lydia's calm face morphed into something more firm, more authoritative than it was before. Her hands flew to his face, his eyes flying open only to see her hands placed on her hips, looking like the girl he fell in love with when he was only in the 3rd grade grabbing a juice box from the lunch lady. "Five more minutes."

"Stiles!" she screamed, so loud like. It was like how she would scream when someone would die. Stiles remembered searching about banshees. Maybe this is how they scream, a part of Stiles deduced. But who is dying, he asked himself.

" _Five more minutes_." Stiles echoed, becoming irritated. His breathing growing more shallow. His headache was becoming more of a head-splitting vertigo rather than a simple dizzy spell. "Just give me five more minutes." Lydia didn't have any of it and knelt down to meet his eyes, keeping him awake. He wanted her to stop, tell her that it would ruin the blue sundress she had on. It's a shame if the dress would get dirty because knowing Lydia, the fabric won't be so easy to clean.

"Stiles, you don't have five minutes!" her maple red lipstick was so red, it reminded him of a show. He wondered what it was. "Remember why you're in the forest! Remember why you're here inside Beacon Hills Preserve!" the voice was scary, so scary, that Stiles was afraid that something would happen to him if he didn't answer the question correctly or appropriately. His eyebrows scrunched up, trying to remember when Lydia was last like this.

Lydia Martin never acted like this. Well, at least not in public.

"I'm here because," Stiles breathed out, memories rushing to him as his vision started becoming more clear. "I have to save our parents from becoming sacrifices." He laughed at the thought of the Darach going back to the root stellar only to find her sacrifices gone. "Oh, she will be pissed." He chuckled at the thought, trying to imagine the look on her face before he grimaced. "Oh, no. Bad look, _bad_ look." Stiles thought of the scars and imagined them up close as he hunt him down for ruining the sacrifice.

" _Stiles_!" Lydia yelled. "Focus! I need you to _focus_!"

Stiles nodded, blinking his eyes close and open in an effort to get things in order. "Yeah. I'm here to save our parents, to stop the Darach from gaining power from the sacrifice." No longer did his voice sound like he had just come home from the bar. "What," Stiles finally opened his eyes wide, looking at Lydia as she stared at his leg with blood pooling around it. "Why are you here? And what happened to me?" Stiles touched the area around the wound, hissing in pain when he realized that it was still tender.

The butter knife was buried deep in his leg and he was losing blood.

"Pull it out, Stiles, and throw it away." He was conflicted. He might need the butter knife to free their parents. Stiles shook his head and refused, his hands hanging by his side lifelessly. "I'm not asking, Stiles. You don't have much time and your parents don't have much time—throw it away, now!" Lydia's face had streaks of tears. Stiles heart ached at the sight before he gripped the handle of the knife and pulled it out, screaming in pain before he gasped for air.

The knife remained in his hand when his eyelids felt heavy. He wanted to rest, just shut his eyes for a few minutes when Lydia's face popped up in his mind, reminding him of what he was yet to do. What Stiles had to do.

Taking a deep breath of air, Stiles blinked in the dark groggily and weakly tossed the butter knife in the distance before waiting for darkness to come over him and take him away. And he was taken away, but it wasn't by darkness or a form of darkness.

No, it was a body that took Stiles to a corner. Also, strangely enough, the body was removing its shirt and making a tourniquet out of it.

Stiles opened his eyes to see Dad giving him a smile. His father had teary smile, his face had stains of them, too. His eyes were bloodshot and his nose was red, his cheeks were puffy, and his breathing was ragged. His Dad had been crying. Stiles tried to move towards him, to ask him what was wrong when he felt pain strike through his body from his leg. "Don't move, now, Stiles," a familiar voice piped up, calming him down as he started breathing fast and uneven like he was hyperventilating.

"Melissa?" Stiles asked, seeing Scott's mother working on a tourniquet on his leg. "What happened?" it was blurry, his throat was scratchy, probably from all the dirt-infused air he's inhaled. He wanted to ask where Lydia was when he scanned the cellar and failed to find the strawberry-blonde among them. He was worried that something bad might have happened to her if she was here, that's why he didn't tell her about his plan of saving their parents on his own.

"A knife was sticking from your leg, Stiles," Melissa was still wrapping the already blood-soaked, narrow tourniquet around his leg. "You were in and out of consciousness, Stiles, dizzy from all the blood loss." Stiles' eyes drifted towards the only source of light, which was a hole where there was a dark spot, fairly big. His smarts caught up with him as he realized that the dark spot was actually from his blood, seeing that there was a trail that lead to him. "I was so worried, you know. I kept thinking what would have happened if you didn't stay conscious when I told you to throw the knife after pulling it out." There was a chuckle in her voice.

Lydia wasn't around? She was a hallucination? She wasn't real?

"Yeah," Stiles found himself nodding. "I'm glad I stayed unconscious, too," he looked at his Dad. "And I'm glad we're alive," his Dad gave this chuckle that reminded him of all the times he'd try to feed a veggie burger with a smoked salmon fillet instead of his usual, greasy fast food take-outs. The look on his Dad's face told him that he was in big trouble despite not being the one who was kidnapped by the Darach who is still out there and needs some stopping.

Stiles scanned the room and noticed the baseball bat standing upright, holding the roof of the cellar in place—above their heads. "So, when's back up coming?" Argent asked, inside the palm of his hand was a small blinking device that kept blinking, much like the sound he's been hearing before he found the cellar. "Because the eclipse is going to happen in a few minutes and I'm afraid that our canine friends aren't going to be much help once that happens." Argent breathed out, his eyes still glancing occasionally at the hole that Stiles fell in.

"Back up?" Stiles echoed Argent's words, squinting his eyes in confusion.

"That's why you left, right?" Melissa asked. "Because you told Scott not to do anything that involves surrogate sacrificing?" Stiles paled at the last part, alarming everyone inside the root cellar. "You did hear what we shouted, right? That's why you left in such a hurry, because you _heard_ us yelling Jennifer's plan, baiting Scott into sacrificing himself because he's the ultimate sacrifice," the urgency in Melissa's voice rang clear to Stiles as he felt like an idiot.

He should have seen this coming, that he should have connected the dots. This was all some elaborate and convoluted part of a master plan that he played Scott right into.

"Oh, my God!" Melissa cried, her hands flying to her mouth as she tried to stop the sob from escaping her mouth. Stiles could only imagine what she was going through, sure that the pain he felt earlier as Scott sent him off wouldn't match Melissa's because it's her son who just died earlier. But there was still a chance, Scott's dying, not dead. He could still save him.

"But Deaton is keeping him alive. He's gonna be okay, I promise, and after this, you can ground for a week—no Stiles!" he joked, remembering the time when Jackson filed for a restraining order against the both of them. She had been so angry and they had both been so shocked. Without school's lunch breaks and library time, Stiles didn't really know how he would have survived a week filled with mind-controlling grandfathers, stalker-ish photographers, and a lizard with emotional issues who finally became a werewolf because of Lydia's confession of her undying love for him that apparently would never fade away.

Yeah. Uck.

"We have to—we need to get out of here. I need to get to my son," Melissa fumbled around, trying to get a lock around things with this unmistakable look on her face that made Stiles want to curl up into a ball and die shortly after. The look on her face told him that she needed to get to her son to keep him alive, but that wasn't the case. Stiles felt something heavy weigh down his lungs, like it was crushing his heart from above. The unrecognizable words that escaped Melissa's lips further fueled the guilt Stiles couldn't help but feel.

There was a sudden shift, a tremor that made everyone lose their balance. Stiles fell flat on his back, groaning in pain, his father sliding up beside him just a few seconds after. "That's gonna leave a mark," Stiles muttered under his breath, steadying his breathing after closing his eyes. He searched the root cellar for any damage. Using the back of his fist, Stiles gave a punch to the wall after getting on his knees, nodding his head in satisfaction knowing that the whole cellar won't collapse on them while trying to get out.

Melissa was sitting by the corner, trying to get her act together. Stiles wanted to tell the truth but he didn't know what exactly the truth was—Scott's not dead and he's not in a state that one would exactly call alive. Technicalities are Stiles' specialty, _supernatural_ technicalities, however, are not.

But then he saw him. Argent was just sitting near the hole where Stiles fell in and he could see the gears turning in his mind. He knew what the older man was thinking about, who occupied his mind. Stiles knew that he was worried about Allison, about the side-effects dying did to her. "You know," Stiles jumped a bit, his head leaning to the side when Argent spoke, his voice deep like what he was a guest speaker for some high school graduation with a meaningful speech. "These emitters," the little metal, silver-looking thing-y that made this small beeping sound and blinded him every 3 seconds glinted in the moonlight, "are used to attract werewolves. I didn't know they attracted regular teenagers with weapons, too," there was a humorless chuckle in the end.

Stiles knew that Argent was talking about Allison.

"She's going to be fine, you know," Stiles muttered, gripping one of the rocks peeking out of the dirt walls. "Scott wouldn't let anything like that happen to me, let alone her," he scoffed, imagining the whole scene that had happened with his best friend and the woman he supposedly moved on from. "There's like, seriously, no doubt in my mind." Stiles remembered every single time Scott and Allison had been disgustingly sweet. "If you only saw them, you'd see that Scott wouldn't let anything happen to her," suddenly, the thought of Argent knowing to what extent Scott and Allison's relationship had reached scared Stiles.

"On a second thought, actually you're better off with a reliable reference." If Victoria Argent tried killing Scott, Stiles didn't want to know what Argent would have done to his best friend.

Argent just gave him a look, a look that probably conveyed the message, ' _You're a weird kid_ ,' or something like that.

Suddenly, jarring Stiles back to reality, was a tremor. It wasn't particularly strong, in fact, had he been sitting on his chair inside his room, Stiles would have just probably brushed it off, give a thoughtful look and a mental note to launch a thorough search on earthquakes before going back to his crime board and connect the dots on some murder-mystery show on Netflix. But then again, it's not particularly normal, Stiles' current circumstances because he just got back from the dead, his friends still have a psychotic Darach on their figurative ( _literal to some_ ) tails, they still have a alpha pack figuratively ( _and also literally_ ) biting their respective asses, and the fact that he's not exactly chilling inside his room with a couple of Red Bull cans near him.

Also, the dirt trickling down from the already sinking roof was unsettling. Stiles gave a disgruntled and strained groan. Aside from possibly losing his brother in the whole, wide world, he's have to lose his baseball bat, too? Stiles asked the Universe, after saving its occupants for the millionth time, where's the justice in that?

Stiles winced in pain when he shifted his leg, catching his father's attention who had been keeping Melissa some company. "I don't like the look the look on that leg," Melissa said through her tears, wiping some of them off of her face even though she knew that it was obvious. Stiles didn't need to have super-werewolf hearing or smelling or feeling. After seeing how Melissa picked herself up and collected her shit together, Stiles never felt so proud to be a regular human in the McCall pack.

"Me neither," his Dad agreed, his eyes squinting in the dark at the tourniquet that is already soaked in his blood.

"Well, I don't like the look on that ceiling so how about we get out of this root cellar and get some _real_ help," Argent gave Stiles a look that would have meant no offense but it was too late. Stiles was offended. For one second, he was proud of being a human and now he felt annoyed and irritated. "You," Argent pointed at Melissa, crouching low and putting his hands together, giving his Dad a look to do the same. "Go first." All of a sudden, Melissa was boosted into the air, out of the root cellar and holding her hand out for Stiles.

"I really think that Dad should go—" Stiles was cut off, his arm grabbed by Argent who had this unsurprisingly strong grip.

Argent looked unfazed, only determined. It looked like, to Stiles, he didn't really care what he was going to say. "You're next," Argent said in a very low and menacing tone that would have alarmed him if it weren't for his knowledge that he was, in fact, a person who can irritate everyone just by being there. So Argent didn't really scare Stiles, which was mostly because of his father standing just right beside him.

Stiles yelped when he was launched into the air, his hand caught by Melissa and was pulled over back into Mother Nature's war zone, with rocks as big as his fist flying over his head with a speed that will kill him. He gulped at the sight of Melissa, applying more pressure at his wound and not laying low as she should have been doing. "You brought your Jeep?" Stiles nodded, his words caught in his throat when he pulled Melissa down, her head barely missing the very thick branch that flew by them.

The wind began to calm down. The whistling became softer and soon, there were no flying branches or rocks.

"Yeah, its windshield is cracked. Can't miss it," his arm flew towards the direction of the now mud-covered Jeep. He was fairly surprised that the windshield's still there. "Probably because the wind is calming down, right?" the words were out of his mouth before he could think of what was entirely wrong with that. Stiles' eyebrows scrunched up in confusion, eyeing the clearing and the lack of destruction. "Something's wrong. Very wrong," he looked up, getting to his feet and his stomach dropping.

"Why? What's—" and then Melissa saw it, too. Her hands flew over to her mouth, but her gasp was still audible. Stiles didn't blame her, the sight of the blood moon was something like a bad omen. "Scott," she shakily muttered under her breath and Stiles would have done the same.

Stiles jumped when a hand was placed in his shoulder. His hand flew to his chest, feeling his beating heart and rubbing soothing circles as if it could soothe the shock he felt. _If it was a cure_ , Stiles thought to himself as he glared at Argent's hand, _then it's a pretty crappy one_. "It's supposed to be a lunar eclipse, why is it red?" he was about to say something snarky or sarcastic when he saw Argent's face. It was dead serious and looks like he wasn't going to joke around.

Stiles gulped. "That's because Jennifer completed her sacrifices." He fished his phone from his pocket and breathed in deep when the time flashed bright. Stiles needed to get to kill the Darach. "We have to stop her," Stiles tried running, but he cried out in pain, it was like the wound was throbbing with every move he made to leave the preserve. "She's drawing power from the Nemeton and the longer she's doing that, Scott is. . ." he couldn't finish the sentence because if he did, he wouldn't be able to stop the sob from escaping his lips.

His Dad inched forward as if taking another step would have sent him on a spiral towards depression or something worse. "Stiles, you can't stop him." Stiles was reminded of the time Scott was soaked in gasoline, holding a flare dangerously close to himself. He saw himself in his Dad's actions, the words that rang painfully honest and sincere. "You need to get that leg looked at. I'm not letting you march into war with _that_ ," Stiles was held down by his father's hands on his shoulder.

"Let me go!" Stiles struggled to be free and he saw the conflicted and pained expression on his father's face. "I have to stop Jennifer! She—I need to save Scott, Dad!" with a sigh from behind him, Stiles fell to the ground. He stood up, walking towards his jeep even though his leg hurt him. He was, for a lack of better words, pathetically limping towards his equally pathetic jeep. Eventually he gave up, gave in to the pain and fell to the ground and didn't even attempt to get up. Stiles just crawled, dragged his body through the dirt in an effort to reach his Jeep.

The preserve was so silent that Stiles could hear everything they were talking about, how Argent was stopping his Dad from picking him up.

"Aagh!" Stiles yelled when he felt pain explode from his leg, but he still went on before he was finally picked up from the ground by his father. "Let me go!" Stiles yelled, his voice finally breaking. "Why does it have to be him?" Stiles yelled at the sky, not knowing who it was really to blame, wondering if the whole thing was his fault. He just felt limp and numb in his father's arms, his chest heaving with sobs ringing in the atmosphere. His father was hushing him, trying to make things better when Stiles knew it was bullshit.

Scott was full of bullshit.

Stiles wished he was powerful, that he actually had power to do something but he didn't and Scott was wrong. He is powerless because he couldn't save the people who always put him first. "It's okay, Stiles, just. . .it's okay," Stiles didn't believe his Dad, just staring blankly at the blood moon, remembering his best friend lying inside a tub, dying as he lost blood.

Stiles just shook his head, feeling so lost, tears streaking his face after fighting the urge to cry for so long. " _Crying doesn't mean you're weak. It means you've been strong for too long_ ," Scott's voice rang in his head again and it killed him, knowing that he'll go crazy trying to make himself believe that he isn't hearing voices. Deaton was right, he'd be shrouded in darkness for the rest of his life but what Stiles didn't count on expecting was wanting his best friend's voice to be real.

It's killing Stiles knowing that it'll only Scott's memories in his mind, that he'll only hear his voice in his mind and it will drive him absolutely crazy.

"Shut up." Stiles said, pressing his hands over his ears and dropped to his knees, his jaws grinding, and his sanity slowly seeping through his fingers like water. "Shut up, shut up. _Shut up_!" Stiles yelled like a madman, hurting too much at hearing his brother comfort him when he's the one dying.

Stiles didn't really know what happened after that; it was mostly a blur to him. He remembered Argent nearly man-handling him into his Jeep, his eyes wide as saucers when he slammed his fists against a window so hard that he could have broke the glass. Stiles snapped out of his trance inside a part of the hospital, like he woke up from a horrible dream only to step into a far worse reality where he was standing in the morgue, in front of an examination table where a body was covered with white cloth.

He remembered seeing Isaac, though. Stiles even made an incoherent comment, about how weird it was, seeing him without a scarf.

Stiles didn't need to uncover the body. His heart thumped hard in his chest. He knew who was dead and it wasn't Isaac because he heard the brooding howl from the usually unhelpful teenager who didn't really do much homework. Stiles remembered that Isaac would often pawn off his homework to Scott, who'd ask Lydia for help doing both his and Isaac's. Stiles scoffed at the memory, tears falling on the metal examination table, because he would always work with Scott on those assignments.

"Add this, Scotty," the librarian would glare at them, threaten them with kicking them out of the library. Scott would give him a look, whisper in hushed tones telling him to stop. He never really did and Scott would sigh. "Come on, it'll be so much better if you add that Napoleon isn't exactly short and that—" there was an incredulous look on Scott's face that might have made him laugh if it weren't for the fact that he'd never see his best friend again.

"What does that have to do with price elasticity?" Stiles smiled, his fingers cupping his chin as Scott erased a few letters from the already crumpled paper.

"Oh, yeah. I really didn't think about that." Stiles would just shrug, bite into his granola bar that he always hid in his jacket, offer some to Scott.

Stiles felt a hand on his shoulder and heard sniffles. "So, how'd he get you to leave?" Stiles' voice was scratchy and dry. It was like he ate cat litter despite not knowing anyone who had a cat and the fact that he mostly surrounded himself with puppies. Yeah, he did that. "Did he play the guilt card or did he just beg you until it was so annoying that you had to leave?" it was a sarcastic, his tone, a bit dark with a touch of his usual sardonic humor.

Stiles looked over her and kept silent. He knew what she's been through.

Allison swallowed, her voice strained, obviously not over the recent events. "Actually," she pulled a tight smile, a very fake one that would have been to try and convince people that she was okay but she isn't and she's not fooling anyone. "He gave me an ultimatum. One good reason and three lousy tries to give him one." Stiles sucked a breath of air in. That was like Scott, giving them a chance, trying to play both sides because deep inside he wanted her to stay, he wanted to live, too.

"Let me guess," Stiles gripped the edge of the examination table, his eyes glued to the body in front of them. "He totally ignored reason and told you that whatever suggestion you gave wasn't good enough?" Allison didn't say anything, she just kept silent and cried, wiping her tears through the silent whimpers. "Yeah, thought so." He said bitterly, remembering the selfless wolf-boy who didn't really give a damn about himself but he would go through hell or to the moon and back just to keep the people he loves safe.

"Told him I still love him, that I needed him but he still pushed me away. Told me I'd hate him for the rest of my life, wasn't enough to get him to budge," Stiles would be surprised if he didn't know Scott that well. Had he met Scott just after getting bitten, he would have thought that his anchor hating him would have been enough. But Stiles knew that he would sacrifice anything to keep her alive, Allison safe above all.

"I told him that I'd never forgive him." Stiles offers sadly, still looking down.

"I hate him."

Stiles tried for a smile, but it ended up looking like a grimace. "You know, you're letting him win. You're still letting Scott win if you hate him because he'll be in your mind." Allison raised a brow. "The English class with Jennifer. She gave us a quote from Shakespeare. ' _Love me or hate me, both are in my favor. If you love me, I'll always be in your heart. If you hate me, I'll always be in your mind_.' Maybe you should have told him that you'd forget about him or that you'd spiral into depression because if you did say that, he'd never leave your side. He'd be like a puppy." His heart ached painfully.

"He _had_ to die." Allison said tearily, her voice cracking.

Stiles gulped. He nodded, knowing he had to be strong for her. Stiles took her into his arms, closing his eyes shit when she wailed. She cried, he's never heard her like this before. He couldn't Scott down. Stiles needed to try and keep the pack together even though he didn't try. Even if Scott never did try to live.

But Stiles couldn't try now. Maybe another day, when the tears would stop falling. Stiles thought to himself as his chest heaved unevenly as he cried that he would keep the people they both love safe. Maybe one day, he'd realize that what Scott didn't really have a choice, that sacrificing himself was needed to save everyone and their parents. One day, Stiles though to himself, he'd understand and he'd thank his brother for doing that.

But right now? He's grieving. He's cursing at his best friend for leaving him high and dry. He hates his best friend and he won't move on. Not now. Not anytime soon.

He's powerless at the moment.


	3. Powerless — Allison

_**Powerless — Allison**_

* * *

 ** _First of all, shout-out to Lexim325 for being an awesome reader!_**

 ** _Here is the final installment to the three-shot, probably will become a prequel to an alternate universe Season 3B fanfiction that I am contemplating on doing probably after I finish the list of stories I started._** ** _But enough about that, you don't want to know about that. This final chapter will focus on Allison after her departure from purgatory and what she does next._**

 ** _Again, I do not own Teen Wolf. I am just afraid of facing reality where the show is ending. Dark themes, I guess, and Allisaac friendship._**

* * *

The crying was loud.

Allison shot up from the metal tub, her fingers still trembling from the ice bath she had taken to save her father. The very same bath that _killed_ her for God knows how many hours, that thought crossed her mind when Allison's eyes landed on a clock, her head far too dizzy to try and read the time. She wanted to ask what the time was, to know how long she had been held under water. Allison needed to know how long she's got to save the people she can still save. Her throat ached and throbbed as the words refused to slip out of her tongue when she saw her best friend, Lydia, crying on the ground.

Allison should have guessed from the shattered pieces of glass sitting on the floor of the clinic to know what had happened. "She screamed."

Allison's head turned towards the direction of the solemn and broody voice that belonged to Isaac, someone she thought she could have been with. She shook her head, it's a silly thought to her now. The thought of being with someone else, someone entirely unlike Scott, she didn't know how she came up with the idea and why it seemed acceptable but a voice in her mind reminded her why. Allison remembered the fight earlier with Scott, how they argued over their break-up.

" _And we took a break! I went away and I started seeing other people because I needed to get that image— **what I suddenly realized what I was capable of** —out of my mind before I could even consider being with you!_" her mind repeated her own words like a broken plate, reminding her all over again of why they needed to break-up, of why she thought being with Isaac was a good idea; she needed time and space to let go of what she thought she had become. She needed to feel powerful, to be independent and at the time, being with Scott didn't make her feel that way.

In fact, Allison felt like a damsel, a _liability_ who was always considered whether or not she's an enemy or an ally.

" _And that's what I call a smart move, Allison, because we needed to see things a whole lot more clearly than we did before_."

He was right, so she stepped away from that. Allison needed a change of scenery and of people, so she went to France. There, she met some of her distant relatives, people who protected themselves without slaughtering the innocent. They didn't break free from the Code, but they weren't exactly religious followers because they saw some of the werewolves as people. They saw the flaws and they managed to right their ancestor's wrong. " _To serve others and not only ourselves_." René-Charles Argent and his sister, the cousins she and her Dad stayed with, made their own Code.

Not everyone had the stomach to live in the supernatural world and understand it. Not everyone could pull the trigger and certainly not _everyone_ understood that being supernatural did not equal being a monster. Choices define the character, not the other way around and Allison knew to herself that a good number of people would rather shoot first and ask later. So, she was amazed because their cousins' code protected not only the humans vulnerable to particular werewolves who chose to live in a certain way, but also the werewolves hunted down by closed-minded hunters just because they were either born that way or they met with an unfortunate chance.

Either way, most didn't even want to be a werewolf.

So when it had first started, the Alpha Pack and the Darach, when it became too much for Allison to sit out on, she dragged herself and her father out of retirement with a new Code, her revolution _and_ evolution inspired by the French cousins who gave supernaturals the benefit of a doubt. " _We protect those who cannot protect themselves_." Allison remembered how her distant cousins' code both applied to the humans and the supernatural and decided that it was fitting for her pack.

Allison and her friends, they protected those who cannot protect themselves.

 _And yet_ , a cynical and depressed voice piped up in her mind, _you cannot follow your own code because you failed to protect the one who continued to protect you_.

Allison just watched her best friend sob on the ground, dangerously close to the shards of glass that could cut her. Her throat caught a sob that her lips begged to voice. She failed her Code because she lost Scott. The 3 months she spent, some 7 thousand kilometers away from home, trying to make herself feel powerful to prove to her friends that she wasn't this person so easily consumed by power, so easily corrupted by others, was wasted just like that. Allison wanted to prove that she could handle power and be like Scott, so pure and kind.

She failed. She's powerless, that way. Allison was powerless because she always needed help, she's so dependent on others that the only time she did try to do things on her own, she ended up being motherless.

Allison felt weak because she couldn't _be_ like Scott, because she couldn't _save_ Scott. Allison felt weak because she wasn't strong enough to anchor him life, she's weak because she's simply not _enough_ for anyone.

"She didn't scream for Scott, you know," Isaac said, gloomy as ever like London, where Jackson currently was. The look on his face was so haunting, so betrayed that Allison was reminded even more of Scott's death. "The bastard didn't even try and fight for his life." The hurt in Isaac's voice was something Allison never heard before, nor was it something she would have expected. He kept pacing around, his face strained as if he was trying so hard not to say something, but it the end he spoke up, his tone harsh and cruel. "You know, I left Derek because Scott's the true alpha. Scott's the better alpha and all of a sudden he kills himself without so much as a warning?" Issac slammed the wet towel he had in his hands to the ground, earning a glare from Lydia.

The logical part of Allison wanted Isaac to calm down, to get his _shit_ together so they can formulate some kind of plan to defeat the Darach. Another part of her wanted to snap, tell him that he isn't the center of the universe and that he wasn't the only one who lost Scott.

 _Melissa_. . .

Allison didn't even think of Melissa, if their parents were alright. They were all too caught up in the recent turn of events, how the person they thought would end up laughing over this after some 10 years as if it was nothing but a Halloween prank for Coach, just died. It all felt impossible because the person they all counted on, the person they all expected to be there won't be there for them anymore, the person who they can always count on to protect them wouldn't be more than just a body 6 feet under the ground.

A part of Allison wanted to cry and just break down, just be a teenager who's lost her friend and first love, the love of her life, but it was like she ran out of tears from all her crying back in purgatory. So she just stood up, pushed herself to her feet, feeling lightheaded after leaving the tub of water for the first time in a few hours. "And where are you going?" Isaac asked icily, noticing that his eyes were still glued to the tub filled with pitch black water. Allison's smarts caught up to her and pieced the clues together—the thick, clack liquid pooling on the ground was Scott's blood.

He had bled out. How, she didn't know why.

 _Blood_.

That was fitting, Allison thought to herself, grabbing one of the folded, white towels sitting on top of a metal counter. Drying herself, Allison's heart pounded hard against her chest as her face showed no emotion. She was out for blood, for the Darach's blood and she's hellbent on getting it. Allison padded her goosebumps-covered skin as she realized that the 3 months she spent in France forgetting about the darkness Kate and Gerard awakened in her would be all for nothing because that's honestly all she could see.

With all the darkness that surrounded her, Allison wanted blood, she wanted revenge.

After looking around, Allison turned to Isaac, still cold and unforgiving. "Where's my bow?" Lydia was already unconscious after she had cried herself to sleep. Isaac gave her a look, a quizzical and puzzled look that caused his chest to heave. Allison took a deep breath of air, trying to remain calm. "Where's my stuff?" Isaac didn't say anything, he didn't even move. He gave nothing to answer Allison's question so she just left the room, searching for her stuff herself.

Finding herself inside the waiting room of the animal clinic, Allison huffed when she saw her bag in plain sight. "Hey!" Isaac appeared around the corner, eyeing her as she put on a fresh set of clothes. "You're not going anywhere." Isaac breathed out, leaning against the doorway. For just a second, Allison just gave him a blank expression, a passive look that ended quickly when Allison felt her set of Chinese ring-daggers inside one of the bag's side pockets.

"I have to find our parents." Curt and straight to the point, Allison saw a black pistol and was reminded of her father. Guns were never really her choice of weapon, but it was fast and it was lethal. It could deliver a killing blow faster than a bow can. Allison faced Isaac, her phone now in hand before flashing the screen at the werewolf. "I've been under water for 16 hours, so it means I have less than 4 hours to drive myself to the preserve, free our parents, _and_ defeat the Darach." Allison listed off, so close to knocking Isaac out just to get out of the clinic.

Standing in the same room as he was, Allison couldn't handle being next to him. In another reality, a universe where Scott survived purgatory, she might have given her and Isaac a chance. She might have liked him enough to start a relationship with him but Scott didn't make it out and that left for so many factors that made a relationship between them— _any relationship, for that matter_ —impossible for Allison because in the 30 or so minutes she's managed back in the world without him, she's learned that there's no moving on from Scott McCall.

"Yeah," Isaac's tone challenged her. "Well, Deaton told me to look out for you and keep you in here, said that he wanted to check you if being dead for 16 hours can leave any physical side-effects." He was fast, moving himself towards the door, blocking her way out. Allison didn't give anything to acknowledge him, not even a simple nod or a protest. She just turned her back, heading straight to the kennels when Isaac spoke up again. "The back door's jammed, I don't know why," he crossed his arms, his tone dismissive as if he had nothing to do with it.

"What did you do?" Allison asked through gritted teeth, trying so hard to stay calm when all she could see was Jennifer Blake's blood on her hands. She needed her to feel pain, to feel what she's feeling.

Seeing Isaac right now reminded her of the past, when she had stabbed him and Erica at least 20 times with her Chinese ring-daggers, tied them up to the ceiling to hang, the metal ropes wired to electricity enough to kill a man. She wanted to tie him up again so that he wouldn't stand in her way. "Nothing," his façade made Allison even more angrier. "I didn't really know my own strength," finally losing her patience, Allison charged at Isaac, one of the ring-daggers in hand, yelling as if it could help ease the pain she felt.

He's in the way, Allison thought to herself, no one is going to stand in her way.

Isaac grabbed her hand just as she was about to pierce his chest. "Stop this!" he yelled, his voice held authority. "You're not thinking clearly—" he was cut off by her quick jabs to the stomach. Allison stood as Isaac fell to the ground, oxygen knocked out of him as he landed on his knees. "You can't bring him back, Allison!" it was like he was taunting her, fueling her anger with more gasoline. "He's _dead_ , Deaton said so himself. He's already brought him to the hospital," Isaac said, his tone defeated and dejected.

Allison breathed in, her nails digging into her palm. Isaac looked at her but she just looked away, knowing well that he could smell the metallic scent of her blood. Allison relished in the pain brought by her nails, it kept her bounded and human. "Believe me, I'm _not_ trying to bring him back," she said as calmly as possible, breathing in deep, watching Isaac's every move as he slowly inched away from the door and took small steps towards her.

Isaac shook his head, holding his hands in front of him, trying to coax her into dropping the ring-dagger. Allison could see in his eyes that the memory of being stabbed with the very same dagger was still fresh in his mind. "No, but you're about to do something very stupid. Reckless. And I'm not letting you out of these doors." In a fraction of a second, surprising Isaac— _even Allison was shocked by how fast she was_ —as she slammed her hands against the counter, swiping everything clear of the top.

Allison laughed humorlessly. "Reckless, maybe. But what I'm going to do to her is nothing short of what she deserves." Allison sneered at the memory of her face, her act of being all innocent and kind as a teacher. She would make sure that Jennifer Blake would feel the pain she's feeling.

Isaac sighed, obviously tired of the charade. "You're not exactly convincing me that you're capable of going out _there_ ," he pointed through the see-through, glass doors, "without managing to slaughter and butcher her. I won't let you, not when you're alone and not when I don't exactly have the power to protect you," Allison could see it in his eyes, how he's being drained of his powers as the eclipse neared.

Allison gritted her teeth. "I don't _need_ protecting." She spat, near-fuming.

Isaac grabbed both of her shoulders, pressing her into his chest in a tight embrace. "I know that," his tone was weak and gentle, soft even. Allison, for all the time she knew Isaac, never heard him like this. "I know that what we could have had will never work now," Allison froze in his embrace, tears threatening to spill. "But I still care for you, Allison, maybe not the way I thought I could have cared for you but I do and I know for a fact that I'm speaking for Scott when I say you're at your most vulnerable—" Allison scoffed.

"I'm not vulnerable." Allison grabbed a gun. "I've got a _Glock 18_ , and if I _am_ vulnerable, I won't be once you let me go after the Darach." Isaac shook his head, finally letting Allison out of his arms. The look on his face weighed heavy for Allison, knowing well that both her feelings for Scott and his death was affecting Isaac. "Look," she threw her hands in the air, her tone flat and finally showing emotion, "I know that you think you're trying to protect me but you have to understand that I _need_ to do this." Isaac had none of it, a look of disbelief on his face.

Allison stood her ground, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder, grabbing a butterfly knife from one of the bag's outside pockets, poising her hands to strike.

Isaac crossed his arms, retreating back into the door, leaning against the glass. His face didn't show any sign that he was afraid of her when he caught the blade. "Gee, you're really convincing," he said, his tone sarcastic that before his brows furrowed in confusion. "What's that—" Isaac was cut off by his eyes trailing over to the blade, realizing that catching it was what Allison wanted all along. "Kanima venom? _Really_?" he fell to the ground, his back pressed against the cold floor.

Ignoring his protests and baseless threats, Allison pushed the glass doors open and stepped out of the clinic, cursing under her breath when she remembered that Isaac was the one who drove her here and that he had the key. Finding it would have eaten up her time so she looked away from her car, only for her eyes to land on Scott's dirt bike. Her breath caught up in her throat, oxygen escaping her lips, fogging up when she found herself standing frozen in the parking lot.

Allison would never admit to this out loud, but she always liked staying long in the school parking lot because she always wanted to see Scott arrive with his bike. She was proud of him, how he managed to get his life together and sort his priorities out even after she broke his heart into a thousand, tiny pieces. Allison always wanted to ride the motorcycle with him but she wasn't that close with him anymore, felt like it wasn't a good idea to even be in the same room.

Finding out that her feet has crossed the lot, Allison now stood by the bike's side. The seat had little droplets of water from the rain and the number up front made Allison take a deep breath, careful not to spill any tears. Allison remembered some of her dates with Scott— _using his Mom's car_ —to the beach, remembered that he'd always place his keys under one of the tires when his board shorts didn't have any pockets. Testing her luck, Allison crouched down after some seconds of flashing her phone's light at the tire, she found a key ring hidden behind the hub of the front wheel.

Taking the key, Allison got on the bike and started the bike, ready to leave when she suddenly felt someone's presence. It was Ethan, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat as if he ran just to get to the clinic. Allison looked around, seeing if one of the sleek, black motorcycles were parked. Looking back at Ethan panting, Allison realized that he had ran over to the clinic. "What are you doing here?" she asked, her tone ice cold again, ready to head straight off to find wherever Jennifer was.

Ethan looked at the clinic. "I need your help." He admitted, walking closer to Allison who was cautious of his every move and watched him carefully as he made his next step towards her. "I need you to help me convince Lydia to come with me and stop," he looked around, his eyes showing truth and desperation, "Aiden from helping Kali kill Derek." Allison immediately shook her head, her hand gripping the throttle when Ethan stepped forward again, this time with a look that challenged her. "You're in a hurry. Off to stop Scott?" Ethan reminded her of something.

Scott's deal with Deucalion. Allison remembered that she was so against it, that Stiles even compared it to a crossroads deal with a demon or a contract with the Devil in Ghost Rider.

Allison looked at Ethan, steadying her heart beat and studying him only to realize that he doesn't know about Scott. "Where are they?" Ethan shook his head, crossing his arms. Allison sighed, giving in. "Fine, I'll help you convince Lydia but we do it on my terms."

Ethan nodded. "Name them." He uncrossed his arms as Allison dismounted from the bike, killing the engine and lead Ethan towards the doors of the clinic, only to find Isaac up and standing with Lydia. "Lydia—" Ethan started but Allison held her arm out, stopping him from walking any further towards Lydia knowing well that she could never leave if the two werewolves began killing each other.

"Hey look, half of the Wonder Twins is here." Isaac spoke up, stepping up to start a fight when Allison got in between the two werewolves. The look on her face told Isaac to calm down and hold back but he didn't really care about what she wanted now. "What do you want with Lydia?" Isaac leaned a bit to the side, making Allison realize that the kanima venom was still affecting him. "Something Deucalion put you up to?" he taunted Ethan, making it sound like Deucalion was making Ethan do his bidding.

Allison had enough, glaring at Isaac. "Stop it!" her voice held so much authority that both of the boys fell quiet and looked at her, waiting for her to tell them what to do next. Allison faced her best friend, who was busy trying to understand what was happening. Finally seeing that Ethan and Isaac aren't going to murder each other, Allison stepped away from them and pulled Lydia to a side. "Listen, Lydia, I need you to go with Ethan to convince Aiden to stop helping Kali with killing Derek." Isaac seemingly snapped out of his trance, realizing what Allison was trying to convince Lydia to do.

Isaac shook his head. "She's not going anywhere with _him_." Allison recognized the protectiveness in him, remembering the shock on his face when Lydia kissed Jackson to help him finally transform into a werewolf. She couldn't really blame Isaac because it was really hard not to love Lydia.

Ethan gave Isaac a look. "It's not like I'm planning to hurt her." Ethan spat at Isaac, pointing his finger at the beta accusingly. "This is actually good for your pack, don't you know? I'm helping your pack by saving your alpha," Isaac gritted his teeth and gave Ethan a snarl, his eyes narrowing down at the alpha.

Isaac stepped forward, his stance dangerously poised for an attack. "Derek's not my alpha."

All of a sudden, there was a loud scream and Allison ducked low and covered her ears. She looked up to see Lydia screaming at the two. " _Listen_ , if you're all going to squabble like chicken, then I'm going to leave you." Lydia took the box of Kleenex from behind the counters and wiped the runny mascara that dried on her face after she stopped crying an hour ago. "But since neither of us," Lydia pointed to herself and to Allison, who was slowly getting up, her ears still ringing from the scream. " _Sorry_." Allison waved it off, letting her best friend know that it was okay. Lydia looked at Ethan and Isaac again, her soft expression gone. "Were given the _wonderful_ gift of lycanthropy, we'll need your help."

Allison nodded, the ringing and pounding in her ear finally gone. "Lydia's right." Allison grabbed her bag, earning a watchful look from Isaac. "We'll need to stop the Darach and stop Kali from killing Derek," Allison looked at her phone, flashing the screen to see the time. Slinging her bag over her shoulder, Allison turned to Isaac. "When's Deaton and Stiles getting back? We'll need as much help as we can get." Allison tried to ignore the pain in her chest when she remembered who usually took charge in situations like these.

Lydia made a small squeak, like she was guilty of something and Isaac's mouth formed a small o. "Well, last I heard from Deaton was that he tried making it look like an accident with _him_ ," Allison nodded, appreciating the effort that Isaac didn't say Scott's name. "He's been taking care of the paperwork with Scott at the hospital's morgue. He'll probably be done in a few more hours." Allison nodded, looking at Isaac to tell him to continue but he didn't.

"What about Stiles?" Allison pressed, dialing her phone to give Stiles a call to join them.

"Stiles is missing." Lydia piped up, Allison in shock to even notice that the she had ended the call. "When he woke up, he was devastated and I couldn't really be there for him, not when I thought I was going to lose you, too," it occurred to Allison that she was gone for a very long time. They probably thought that she was staying with Scott. "So he left, I don't know where." Lydia bent her head down, looking at the floor as if she was hoping that it would swallow her whole to disappear.

Realizing that it probably wasn't the time, Allison walked past Lydia, going back into the examination room, seeing piles of clothes in the corner. "Which one is Stiles' and. . . _his_?" Allison couldn't bring herself to say his name, not when it still hurt. Isaac pointed to one of the pile and Allison remembered the jacket she bought for Scott. Dropping to her knees, she started searching the clothes and felt something inside the jeans' pockets, which turned out to be Scott's phone.

Finding what she needed, Allison turned the phone on and waited for it to boot up. "What do you need with Scott's phone?" Isaac asked as the phone finally displayed the welcoming screen. "What are you doing?"

Tapping on one of the applications, Allison tapped a password, her fingers faltering for a second knowing that both the username and the pass code was her name. "Um, Scott had a tracking chip placed on Stiles' jeep after he was kidnapped by my grandfather." The screen loaded, leaving Allison impatient to see where Stiles was. "Wouldn't be surprised if Scott made Danny make a whole set for all of us." Allison felt that saying his name was both comforting and painful at the same time.

Allison showed the phone to everyone and displayed a list of names that could be tracked as the location was loading.

Lydia nodded, as if she realized something. "So _that's_ why I saw Danny lurking around my car like some sort of lunatic!" Ethan almost cracked a smile.

Allison saw her name and looked at the date beside it. It was the day of the meet, when they had to stay at the Glen Capri. Scott had placed the chip on her car then. Finally the screen showed coordinates and a pin-point location. "Latitude is 37.7749295 and the longitude is negative 122.4194155," Allison copied the text and exited the app, opened a search engine to search where it was. The internet page was still loading when when Lydia spoke up.

"Beacon Hills Preserve. Stiles is at the Beacon Hills Preserve." Lydia said it like it was common knowledge. "Come on, boys," Lydia chastised, narrowing her eyes at their shock. "If I know Archaic Latin, then it shouldn't come as a surprise for any of you that I know how to plot and pin-point places with coordinates."

Allison nodded, understanding what Stiles was doing there. "He's found our parents." Lydia nodded, leading the way to the door when Isaac grabbed Stiles' shirt and sniffed it. "Got a lock on his scent?" Isaac nodded, throwing the shirt back into the pile before heading outside, opening the door for when when Allison shook her head. "I'm taking the bike," Isaac's eyes widened, understanding why she chose the bike over her own car.

"So, where to first?" Isaac asked, heading to Allison's car and opening the door to the driver's seat.

As much as Allison wanted to charge into war, she's realized that Isaac was right earlier and she was being reckless. She wouldn't survive a minute out there without weapons, even if the lunar eclipse rendered the werewolves of Beacon Hills powerless. There was still a Darach who drew power from a recently charged Nemeton whose new energy source came from a young werewolf, possible true alpha.

"My place." Nodding, Isaac closed the door and Lydia got in the back.

Getting on the bike, Allison started the engine and gripped the throttle when Ethan came up to her again. "You told me you're trying to stop Scott." Allison caught on to his words, careful not to divulge important information.

Allison shook her head, securing the helmet on her head but left the face shield up. "I didn't really say anything about Scott." Ethan nodded, giving her credit for that. "And I asked where Deucalion was, I didn't ask about where Scott was." Allison kept avoiding key points but it was useless because Ethan knew what she was hiding.

Ethan sniffed the air around Allison. "Distinct smell of a werewolf." Allison realized her mistake when she left the face shield up. "Scott has this unique scent, you know? Something like a cocktail of cheap cologne, shower gel, lacrosse gear, and sweat." Ethan pointed to the clinic. "You guys didn't mention him much back in there, and his scent's all over the place mixed with a touch of his blood." Allison faced Ethan, her face stony when he made the connection. "I'm sorry for your loss." Ethan placed a hand on her shoulder before he left and got on the passenger seat of the car behind her.

With her heart pounding against her chest, Allison rode off into the road, surprisingly good for someone who's never ridden a motorcycle as a passenger, let alone as the one driving it. Revving the engine, Allison focused on the the sound the motorcycle gave to distract her from her beating heart when she finally reached her apartment building, her eyebrows raised when she noticed the lack of parking spots. A gut feeling told her that something was wrong but she couldn't exactly point what it was.

Taking her time in taking the helmet off of her head, Allison heard the doors of a car behind her open. "This way," Allison lead the way to the elevator, pressing the button for the lift, but she noticed the change of atmosphere, the tension that hung thick in the air whenever Isaac opened his mouth to try and ask a question but ended up just staying quiet. Eventually, Allison had enough of him and his pacing around the elevator. "What is it? What's wrong?" Allison snapped, finally.

Removing his gaze from the ground, Isaac looked up to see Allison. She knew that he sensed her irritation and that she wanted nothing more than to charge on the battlefield and exact her revenge on the Darach. "It's nothing, it's just," Isaac turned to Ethan. Allison sensed that both the werewolves were troubled but Ethan hid it better than Isaac. "It's just so familiar. Different, but so familiar," Isaac's eyes were closed as he breathed in deep, trying to concentrate on whatever scent he and Ethan could pick up.

Ethan nodded, closing his eyes as he breathed the scent in. "Smells like McCall, actually." The words were out of his mouth sooner than he could realize his mistake but the damage was already done. Allison turned her back on them and faced the button panel, gritting her teeth as she calmed her breathing. The memory of his death rang fresh and clear in her mind that almost any kind of reminder was like salt to an open wound. Despite not having super-werewolf powers, Allison knew that Ethan's hand was stretched forward, faltering every inch wondering if comforting her would do any real change. "I'm sorry." Nobody reacted to Ethan knowing the truth and frankly, Allison stopped caring.

Lydia kept quiet and stood in complete silence, not wanting to get involved because she was already hurting. "But he's right." Isaac muttered, his eyes narrowed at the elevator doors, waiting for the prominent ' _ding_ ' that would sound to signal that they've reached her apartment and her floor. "The scent, it does smell like him," Allison wanted to glare at him, to tell him to stop but he was saved by bell, the metal doors opening.

"Do you have some people over at your place?" Ethan asked, stepping forward as the metal doors slowly parted to give way. "Because I can hear multiple heartbeats, and they're in your apartment." The elevator doors finally opened only to reveal two buff looking men, wearing FBI-issued badges inspecting her foyer.

Allison stepped out of the elevator and tried entering her apartment but she was stopped by the two Sheriff's Deputies. "What are you doing here?" Allison's questions were ignored and disregarded as she was continued to be denied entrance to her own apartment. Trying to see through the small gap, Allison saw little but it was enough to know that her father's fire arms and weapons were being rounded up.

Allison tried fighting her way in but the Deputies didn't budge. "Hey, isn't that Argent's kid?" a voice was heard from the inside of the apartment. Isaac and Ethan shared a look and the moment didn't go unnoticed, but Allison kept staring at the door, wondering who the person inside her apartment was as countless theories streamed her head—maybe some of her more. . .extremist relatives caught wind of her fraternizing with the enemy.

One of the Deputies, the guy who looked a lot like Tony Blair, recognized her from a speeding ticket. "Yeah, this is her!" one of the two windbreakers held a hand out and asked for a valid ID. Sighing, Allison grabbed her wallet and took her license out, giving it to a Deputy before he disappeared back into the apartment.

There was a bit of a rustle and Allison was tempted to just kick the door open when the Deputy returned. "Send them in!" the mystery man yelled again and soon, Allison found herself in the living room, her father's weapons displayed on the coffee table like it was merchandise for sale in the mall. "Allison Argent," the man's badge had letters way too small for her to read. "Your father's got _quite_ the arsenal, young lady," the FBI agent drummed a dagger on his palm and he looked across the room, letting everyone see the rounded-up weapons that belonged to her father.

Ignoring the look on the man's face that probably meant trouble, Allison stepped forward. "What are you doing here?" Allison started to feel like a broken plate, repeating her every word so often lately.

The FBI agent looked at Allison was if it was the most obvious question and that the answer was sitting in front of her. "Following one of the only leads I have." The agent flashed a folder with bold letters spelling out ' **ARGENT, C.** ' beside a picture of her father's face before he cleared out some of the flashbang arrows on the couch. "Now, since I don't know where you've been, why don't you have a seat." Allison took a seat, Ethan and Lydia following suit while Isaac just stood by the side. "You too, Isaac."

Isaac sat plopped down beside her and Lydia, Allison noticing that he was still watching the FBI agent. "How do you know my name?" Isaac asked warily.

"Your name's one of the few things I know," the man said while putting the dagger inside a box, almost tripping over the carpet but the man had gripped the edge of the cabinet near him, saving him from a fall. "To be honest, the rest of what's going on around here has me stumbling in the dark, even over the smallest clue." Lydia scoffed, laughing a humorless laugh before narrowing her eyes at the man, raising her head to prove a point.

Allison watched her best friend as she targeted the man, realizing that Lydia knew the FBI agent. "If you're trying to tell us that you don't have a clue, the kids of Beacon Hills Elementary School has learned that a long time ago, _especially_ Scott," the agent sucked in a breath and nodded as if Lydia had a point while Allison mentally berated herself for not noticing earlier—Ethan and Isaac picking up a scent similar to Scott's; the warm and doughy brown, puppy-dog eyes; Lydia knowing the man and mentioning her elementary school; he's an agent for the FBI. . .the man in front of them is Rafe McCall, Scott's Dad.

Agent McCall looked like he had remembered something when he looked at Lydia. "You're Lydia Martin, aren't you? Natalie's kid," Lydia's silence was seemingly enough for the agent as an answer. "Red hair's a give-away," he said, muttering under her breath when Stiles' voice popped up in her mind.

Allison squirmed, shifting and changing her position. "Strawberry blonde, actually," she and Isaac said at the same time.

Agent McCall hummed, nodding as if he remembered something. "I see you've found yourself a new admirer," he pointed at Isaac before he cleared the seat in front of them and sat down. "But I'm much more interested in your old one, Stiles Stilinski, and his usual partner in crime, Scott," Allison realized how hard it must have been for Scott. The agent would always put his job first and being a father second.

"You're his father, shouldn't you know?" Lydia quipped a dry and witty remark that seemed to have affected the agent heavily. Allison didn't know much about Scott's father or why he had left, but seeing Lydia being so offensive and protective of Scott made her wonder what had happened.

The shocked look on the agent's face didn't go unnoticed. It was obviously a blow on him, Allison saw enough to realize that. Seeing that Scott has never mentioned anything about his father, Allison realized that Lydia made a hit below the belt to remind the special agent that he was both unwanted as a father and an absent one at that.

Agent McCall sucked in a breath of air. "Miss Martin, may I remind you that I'm a special agent working for the government and that withholding information regarding particular details or the whereabouts of a person in question during an active investigation is, in fact, _against_ the law?" taking a moment to himself, Allison found herself under the watchful eye of the agent. "So you could help me out a little here, kids. Because despite being disturbed by the alarming number of parents missing, but also because they're linked together—your father, Sheriff Stilinski, and my ex-wife."

Isaac shrugged at Scott's father, Allison noticing the struggle he's going through. "Mine are both dead." Isaac offered coolly.

Agent McCall gave waved it off like it was a well-practiced line. "Save the clichéd, teenage apathy for your high school teachers." Allison knew, from that point on, that Scott had a very good reason not to mention his father. "Because if any of you haven't noticed it, we're not exactly making any progress."

Lydia snapped, standing up maybe to prove a point. "Then do something about it instead of keeping us in here!" Allison noticed that her best friend's perfectly manicured nails were digging into her palm. "That's your job, isn't it?" Lydia remarked dryly.

Agent McCall pinched the bridge of his nose before sighing, his hands abruptly placing themselves on his waist. "I'm really hoping to avoid the embarrassment of dragging Natalie Martin's kid, my godson, and _my very own son_ into an interrogation room." Agent McCall gave them a look that begged them to cooperate. "Really hoping." He breathed out.

One of the Sheriff's Deputies came into the living room approached Agent McCall. They talked in hushed tones, making Allison wonder about what they were talking about. Leaning in to her side, she asked Isaac about the exchange. "It's about Stiles, they're worried because a camera caught his jeep disappearing into the preserve and now they have another missing person." Allison nodded, turning her head only to see Agent McCall leaving the room and telling them to stay put.

Standing up, Allison raced up to the door, blocking the agent's path. "You can't keep us here," she said, looking to the others who nodded in agreement despite being met with a look from Scott's father. "Not without some kind of warrant." Allison added which caused Agent McCall to head back into the middle of the living room to hold up some of the pistols he's confiscated.

Agent McCall laughed humorlessly as he placed the pistol back on the coffee table. "I've got a desk full of probable causes." For a moment, Allison couldn't think of a retort. Agent McCall looked at her expectantly, waiting for some kind of protest before he sighed and went straight for the door when Allison remembered purgatory and the Nemeton, how her mother was explaining her father's job and the reason they kept moving around so much that they can't keep to one place.

One place except Beacon Hills for that matter, Allison thought to her herself. But then Allison remembered Scott and realized it was all worth it. Meeting Scott and experiencing what she felt with him easily made everything worth it.

Finding new confidence within herself she stared at the weapons that sat across her inside the room. "My father is highly respected private security consultant and a federally licensed firearms dealer." Allison echoed her mother, letting her fingers graze a few of the weapons on the cabinet near her. "That means he has to own a few weapons," Allison picked up a crossbow lying across the sofa they sat on. "Like this 175-pound draw tactical crossbow," Allison aim the bow at the wall before setting it down, picking up a reflective blade near her. "Or this carbon steel Marine combat knife," Allison placed it down, picking up a smoke grenade with one hand and a pistol with the other.

Allison displayed it in front of the agent before going to her friends. The other agents and deputies came into the room, asking what was taking Agent McCall so long to leave. Allison tried to hide the growing smirk on her face.

Allison brandished the gun in her hand. "50AE Desert Eagle," discreetly, Allison passed the gun to Lydia. Slowly, they moved towards the corner near the exit and the door where Allison placed most of the weapons she used as examples. "Smoke grenade with pull ring igniter," Allison held the small can up before swiftly pulling on the ring and tossing it on the ground near the agents and the deputies, smoke quickly filling up the room as she and her friends grabbed their weapons and head out to the elevator, leaving the law enforcers blind in the smoke.

Ignoring the elevator music, Allison took the QSZ-92 from Isaac's hand and shoved it into Ethan's chest. Fishing the combat knife she had hid under her shirt earlier, Allison took Lydia's hands and handed the blade to her. Lydia, in turn, gave Allison the crossbow and a few flashbang arrows Ethan had pocketed earlier from the living room.

The elevator stopped moving and the sounded before the doors grew apart, showing the parking lot. Heading towards the bike, Isaac stopped for a moment, and cursed. "Shit!" he hissed, fishing his phone from a pocket. Allison noticed it vibrating, giving off a tune repeatedly. "The alarm, we've only got a few more minutes before the eclipse." Allison ran towards the bike and took the key from the hub of the wheel before tossing it to Ethan.

A look of confusion was stretched along Ethan's face when Allison walked towards the her Toyota sedan. "Give Lydia the helmet," Isaac got inside the car, taking the driver's seat when Ethan just stood in the parking lot, confused. "The preserve is near here and so is the distillery. Derek's place is farther so you'll need to be very fast," taking the helmet from Ethan, Allison placed almost didn't give the helmet to Lydia because she's afraid that it would lose Scott's scent afterwards. "Go!"

Running back to the passenger seat, Allison got in and closed the door just in time to see Ethan and Lydia riding away, headed towards Derek's loft. "We're going to the Distillery." Isaac nodded and pumped on the pedal, the car surging forward. Allison saw Scott's motorcycle disappear into the distance when Isaac took a sharp turn as per her instructions, heading towards a clearing near the Nemeton and near the distillery.

"Something's not right," Isaac muttered, pointing out that there was nothing there. Allison thought long and hard, trying to remember if Scott said anything about a meeting point or if Ethan mentioned another place other than the distillery. "Where're the alphas?" Isaac asked a question to no one in particular, not helping the heavy feeling that made itself unbearable in Allison's stomach.

Allison looked back at the her phone and the time that bore a hole in her face. She fought the urge to cry because she needed to be strong, not weak. Allison didn't afford the luxury of crying and mistakes at the moment so she breathed in deep before she gripped the door handle only to realize that it was locked and she couldn't get out of the car.

"What are you doing?" Allison asked sharply, venom laced in her voice. "We have to go!"

Isaac shook his head and pointed to the car's clock. It was a few minutes behind her phone. "I changed the time on your phone when we were in your apartment and I made the alarm before we got on the elevator." Allison gave him a pointed look but he just shrugged. "Figured that you'd have some sort of emotional crisis before rushing into the battlefield." Allison tried opening the door again but to no avail.

Honestly, she felt like crying.

"It's okay to cry." Isaac muttered, the comment completely out of character. "Scott told me once, after the whole kanima thing with Jackson, that it was okay to cry." Allison realized that she didn't know about this probably because she was away that time, probably on a plane to France or that she was probably already there, meeting with the distant cousins. "He took me to visit my Dad's grave, told me it was to okay cry, that I've been strong for too long or something like that. Told me to scream and it made me feel better." The doors clicked and Isaac stepped outside, only to appear in front of Allison's door.

Grabbing Allison's wrist, Isaac took her to the clearing. "What are you—" Allison was cut off mid-sentence when Isaac took her in the middle of the clearing, crossing his arms like she knew what she was supposed to do. "Isaac, we don't have time," Allison was losing her patience, starting to get really annoyed at the fact that she sounded like a broken plate.

Isaac waved it off. "Not a good enough reason," despite the words being said in Isaac's dismissive and broody voice, Allison couldn't help but remember Scott when they were still in purgatory. "Besides, we can spare a minute or two to—" Allison cut him off, the heavy feeling in her chest exploding into sobs and yells that made her want to curl up into a ball and die somewhere. Allison couldn't blame Isaac because he couldn't possibly know, but of all the words he could choose from the English vocabulary, he had to choose one of the words Scott said last to her.

There was a grunt from Isaac, a word that sounded like finally or something like that. "To what? To list off reasons why I'm suddenly not enough of a reason for people to stay? That a stupid code is apparently more important than being a there for your daughter? That I'm not enough for Scott to even try and fight for his life to stay? That I'm not enough to convince anyone to stay?" tears streaked her face and Allison could guarantee that she didn't look all glamorous.

Dropping to her knees, Allison sobbed her heart out. Isaac went to her, crouched down and enveloped her in his arms. "You're more than enough." He said curtly. Allison knew that he meant well, that he wanted to make her feel better but it did nothing to lift her spirits.

Helping her up to her feet, Isaac lead her to the passenger seat of her Toyota and got in the driver's seat beside her. Strapping on the seat belt on her, Isaac started the engine and the car soon moved through the woods. "Ethan actually told me where Deucalion was waiting for Scott." Allison recognized the trail Isaac was driving on and realized that they were going to the rise that overlooked Beacon Hills.

After minutes of silence, they reached a spot near the rise, seeing a figure that stood way too near the cliff. "Thanks for that." Allison muttered under her breath, knowing that Isaac could hear her. Unstrapping his seat belt, Isaac sighed, breathing in deep when Allison faced the door to avoid his stares.

There was tension in the air as Isaac drummed his fingers against the strap of his seat belt. "I know that we can never be what we could have been," Isaac said, almost wistfully. "That I can never really like you in that way but I hope you know that you're pack," Isaac nodded, as if what he was saying should convince him, too. "Yeah, you're pack."

It wasn't much, what Isaac told her, but the meaning it held gave her relief. She's pack—Scott would do anything and everything for his pack and knowing that she isn't this liability to be always considered, that she is part of the pack she helped create, helped lift off a heavy weight in her chest. But then again, the pain in her heart came back when she remembered that she wouldn't be enough.

 _Enough_.

Giving him a tight smile, Allison stepped out of the car, feeling the cold and crisp wind collide against her face as she walked up towards Deucalion. "Ah," a very British voice rang in the air. "Miss Argent, what pleasure having you to join me." Allison could see the alpha much clearly now, the metal walking cane reflected moon's light as Deucalion sniffed the air. "While I'm quite sorry for your loss, I can't help but say that I'm disappointed with the replacement I've been given." Deucalion looked up, as if he could see anything much with his vision. "See, I was under the impression that the deal I've conducted was with a werewolf well on his way to become a true alpha and not a huntress who," Deucalion turned to face her, his red eyes still peaking though his shades, "admittedly needs several sessions with a therapist to discuss healthy life-decisions."

Despite the comment on her, Allison ignored Deucalion's obvious distaste in her. "Where are the other alphas?" Allison remembered the initial shock when she first heard of the news of Scott joining Deucalion. She spent a good time trying to reach his cell, sending text messages and leaving messages in his voicemail trying to convince him to drop Deucalion because how can she trust someone who calls himself ' _Death, destroyer of worlds_ ' to keep his word that he won't turn on Scott?

But with Scott's sacrifice powering the Nemeton, handling Jennifer is too much for them. They are, after all, just teenagers. So, while Allison hated the compromising agreement Scott made with Deucalion and the dangers it came with, she came to realize that it was a necessary evil they needed to defeat the Darach once and for all.

Deucalion nodded, as if he knew what she was thinking. "As much as I am offended that you think so low of me, I'll have you know that Scott and I would have made a surprisingly good team together. And while I'm quite certain you won't have the power of a true alpha in the making, I think we can manage with a huntress with performance issues," Allison looked at him pointedly. Deucalion nodded, chuckling at the chemo-signal he probably picked up from her. "As for my pack, well, they're occupying themselves with other pursuits." Deucalion finally answered her question, leading her down the familiar dirt road trail with Isaac behind them.

Looking around her, seeing the moon up in the sky, Allison grimaced. "So it's just us then? Only the three of us against the Darach, who's conveniently drawing power from the Nemeton? The three of us, where I'm the only person armed against a powerful druid whose power is heightened by the lunar eclipse while you two," Allison pointed to both the werewolves, raising her voice to make sure Isaac heard, "are left powerless." Allison wondered again, despite knowing that a deal with Deucalion is a necessary evil, if it was actually worth it. She wondered if Scott knew that before staying behind in purgatory.

Deucalion waved Allison off, ignoring her worried ranting. "Come on, Miss Argent, put those doubts away. I'd have to be blind, deaf, and a quadriplegic for any of you to be an actual threat, including your anemic werewolf with trust issues and even your former star-player the true alpha in the making." Isaac jogged up to them, walking beside Allison with a pointed look on his face.

Isaac huffed, taking a look at his skin. "I'm not anemic." Isaac defended.

Deucalion chuckled, nodding as he used his walking cane and tapped the ground repeatedly. "Yes, forgive me. Just a boy who never really spent much time under the sun because he spent half his childhood locked inside a freezer." Isaac sucked in a breath of air as Allison stared at Deucalion who went ahead and reached the distillery.

Reaching the door to the distillery, Isaac huffed and raised his collar, his breath fogging up. " _Someone_ is going to buy me a scarf. _I_ should have brought my scarf," he muttered and Deucalion gave him a look when Allison remembered Stiles, how he's never really replied to any of the text messages she sent earlier. Allison turned to Isaac, giving him a look. "What?" he asked, his tone hitting a somewhat higher note as if he's asking what he's done wrong.

"You have to go help Stiles. Find him and our parents first." Isaac stepped forward, his face showing both reluctance and hesitation. Allison didn't blame him because Deucalion was unpredictable and impulsive. "I'll be fine here, but I need you to find our parents and _Stiles_ ," she stressed their friend's name, making it abundantly clear that there was a reason why Stiles never made an attempt to contact them. Allison saw Isaac slowly caving in, his face still showing reluctance, though.

Taking her into his arms, Isaac breathed slowly. "I'll come back for you when I can. Be _careful_." They broke apart and Allison nodded before Isaac walked out the doors, though he still lingered by the door frame.

Eventually, Deucalion crossed the room, standing beside Allison with both his hands resting on the knob of his cane. "Off you go, now," Deucalion said, his voice held this level of charm that left everyone uneasy. Isaac walked out of the distillery, though he stopped in his tracks, giving Allison a look. "I'd hate for the guardians and one Stiles Stilinski to manage without your dreary, scarf-driven presence," Deucalion called out, smirking when Isaac turned around and gave him the finger.

Allison just looked at Deucalion, wondering if he saw or knew what Isaac did to him.

After a hearty chuckle, Deucalion breathed out. "Ah, kids these days," Allison's question was answered. "So impulsive and easily angered—here," Deucalion faced Allison, handing her a cellphone. At first, Allison had no idea why Deucalion gave her the phone. A part of her wondered if Deucalion was just messing with Isaac, that maybe his telling him off was just a test and that Isaac had failed. Allison thought that Deucalion wanted her to call Isaac back to help fight off Jennifer, but then he sighed inwardly and groaned. "Jennifer is easily angered and impulsive," Deucalion pressed a button and soon, there was a ringing sound.

Realizing that it was a video-call, Allison held it in front of her face before shooting Deucalion a curious look, letting her hand and the phone fall to her side. "And you want me to just _call_ her?" Allison asked, her voice incredulous.

Shaking his head, Deucalion took Allison's hand into his, raised the phone and turned the screen to face her. "Don't just call her. _Taunt_ her," facing the door, hearing the wind whistle louder as the minutes passed, Deucalion fixed his jaw as Allison waited for Jennifer to answer. "Dangle the one thing she's fighting for—play her in her own game by threatening to take away what she's been dying and _murdering_ just to achieve," Deucalion hissed the last part, whispered in hushed tones that made Allison's stomach churn and her vision darkened.

Allison knew that she shouldn't let Deucalion bait her along just like that, to play her feelings to his advantage but she couldn't help but be moved and be ruled by her emotions. He's right, after all, Jennifer did murder her way to get her revenge. Jennifer murdered Scott, an innocent bystander who just wanted to protect the people he loved, a person— _a boy, just a teenager_ —who had nothing to do with her sob story. That fact alone fueled the darkness inside Allison.

The video-call was ignored so Allison, with a steely face, decided to record herself, showing the distillery first. "See _this_?" Allison walked up to the wall, showing a pattern carved by a werewolf. The moonlight was passing through the little holes and Allison caught the angle where the whole symbol was visible. "This is a symbol of revenge," Allison almost didn't recognize her voice, the sheer coldness and lack of empathy, how it's void of any kind of emotion would have scared Allison under normal circumstances. _This_ , Allison thought to herself, _is not a normal circumstance_.

Turning the camera to her face, Allison stared at the lens like it was Jennifer's scarred face. White, hot rage filled Allison when she remembered how Scott's touch felt. She remembered the little details now, how his muscles would relax whenever he'd hear her voice, how his arms are perfectly wrapped around her to keep her warm. Jennifer took Scott away from Allison and now, she's more than ready to take away whatever it is she holds dearest and closest to this world.

A cold sneer played on Allison's lips as she tried to keep herself strong, as she tried to keep her composure in check. The last thing she wanted was to show Jennifer that she was weak, that she couldn't possibly avenge Scott. "You talk about _balance_ , about _saving_ people," the words sounded foreign when they rolled off her tongue despite it being the main goal of her pack and her alpha. But Allison spat the words bitterly at the camera, her eyes steely as ever.

Allison wanted to give Jennifer a piece of her mind but the phone was snatched out of her hands before she could even react. Deucalion held the phone in front of his face, the camera aimed at him. "We know what you really want, to throw a little temper tantrum to place the blame on others and justify what you've done." Deucalion remained calm, like a Roman general surveying and analyzing the enemy. "Are you ready, Jennifer? Did you gather your herbs and pray to your ancient earth and oak gods?" Deucalion taunted, his voice becoming more menacing that held a charm that would have had Allison left uneasy if she weren't consumed. "Perhaps you've slit a baby's throat? Was the infant a first born or the seventh son of a seventh son?" Deucalion dropped the phone on the ground.

Allison was shocked, at first. A part of her said that maybe the phone had slipped through his hands. Allison shook her head at that thought. That was _Deucalion_ , a blind alpha who could defeat the Hale pack within a matter of minutes.

"You know where we are now," Deucalion faced the ground, both of his hands now wrapped around the knob of his walking cane. "Should we show the world why you needed to sacrifice, 9 innocent people just to face me? Or is it 12 now?" Deucalion said with a sneer before he stomped on the phone, the screen cracking with LED leaking.

Allison didn't have to wait long for Jennifer to get their little message, appearing with back-up of her own in the form of Derek Hale.

Anger surged through Allison as she remembered her mother. Her mother may have killed herself because of the Code, but Derek Hale bit her. And now, after Scott's death, he's fraternizing with the enemy. A part of Allison wondered if he even cared if Scott had died—or if he knew that Scott had died in the first place.

"What are you doing?" Allison asked Derek, trying to give him the benefit of the doubt even if her vision ran red and her trigger finger itched to kill the werewolf in front of her.

"This might be hard to believe, but I'm trying to help you," Derek said calmly, as if trying to understand where she was coming from. A part of Allison wanted to believe that he knew about Scott, that he was doing this because she had lost Scott but she couldn't bring herself to do the impossible.

Deucalion looked amused, or at least that was what Allison thought he was when he gave the enlightened ' _ah_ ' sound. "To think that Scott would have been the one circling around with Derek Hale!" Allison was almost sure that if Scott was the one in her place, Deucalion would have been cheering like a madman for his football team. "Just think about it— _brother against brother_ —how very American this battle is," Allison gritted her teeth when she remembered who Derek was.

Hale. _Peter Hale_.

He ruined Scott's life.

Hale. _Derek Hale_.

He killed her Mom. He ruined her life.

Allison charged at Derek, Deucalion by her side as they quickly subdued him, moving forward to Jennifer who tried to blast magic spells. Allison could see from her face, that crestfallen expression and her mouth that hung open in disbelief, that she expected it to work like a charm. Allison remembered the other alphas, how they were preoccupied with other things. A thought ran in her mind—were they trying to kill Jennifer on their own?

Now on the floor with Derek, Allison stood over them, towering like some kind of skyscraper along NYC's skyline. The urge to kill mellowed down after having beaten them to a pulp when Deucalion descended on her side like a vampire instead of a werewolf. "Kill her. Do it." Allison had her guns pointed at Jennifer but she hesitated. Would Scott want her to be like that again? To go dark and just snap? Allison shook her head, lowering her gun at the already unconscious Darach. Deucalion growled, placing his hands at the crook of her neck as he stood behind her, forcefully turning her head towards the opened gate. "That storm you're hearing? That's her burying your parents alive—it's her connection to the Telluric currents," whispering on her ear like the Devil pushing her towards the path of temptation, Allison inched forward, her gun raised again all of a sudden.

With her gun raised and Jennifer practically at her mercy, Allison wanted to shoot at least 50 rounds of bullets into her body even _after_ she went limp. There was this sickening urge that pulled at her gut, telling her to grab her knife and go wild at the seemingly defeated Darach at her feet. The part of Allison that shut off her humanity wanted to use the knife to carve on Jennifer's skin, rip out her heart so that she could feel the pain brought by Scott's death. That part of her almost won, actually, because Allison got on her knees, her gun still in her hand.

Crouching beside her, Deucalion sneered at Jennifer. "Kill her, and it all ends," for a second, for a single moment, Allison believed him. A thought passed through her mind, how her world was turned upside down, and almost everything she made herself believe during her stay in France was shattered. In front of her was the Darach responsible for ruining her life, for taking the one person who had the ability to help her see things in a better way or get her through a horrible day.

Allison saw black. She saw the darkness within her and soon, she saw the blood that would stain her hands. Allison saw herself plunging the knife on Jennifer's chest, giving in wounds the damage she felt her mind carried. It was probably her murderous emotions that woke Jennifer up, the firm plan she had that voiced out her need to kill the now conscious Darach.

Jennifer couched, doubling over in pain when Deucalion kicked her square in the stomach. "No, it won't," Jennifer shook her head when Deucalion stood in front of her, his brows furrowed as if telling her to finish the job. "Not with me." Deucalion growled as kicked Jennifer again, causing blood to trickle down her lip. "He'll have you kill everyone you love—it's what he does," Jennifer had a hard and steely gaze on her face and Allison knew that she was thinking about Deucalion.

Deucalion's chest heaved, his head had darted towards Jennifer. Eventually, he spoke up, his voice held some kind of charm or firm authority that compelled Allison to do whatever it was he wanted her to do. "They're dying, Allison, your father and your best friends' parents just because this delusional, earth-worshiping, psychotic murderer couldn't deal with life." Taking Jennifer's neck, Deucalion propped it up, steadying her squirming head so that Allison could get a shot at her.

But Allison didn't move, her expression morphed into nothing different. Allison looked nothing different but her thoughts were a mess. Allison's mind was in shambles, everything in complete and utter chaos that made no sense.

Deucalion's jaws had clenched, his grip on Jennifer's neck had tightened. "She killed _Scott_ , Allison." Scott's name was like a trigger that made Allison snap. "This pathetic magician is a prey needed to be hunt down by a huntress, Allison." Throwing Jennifer's face to a side, Deucalion went up to her side and whispered hauntingly. "Don't be powerless, don't be the same failure who couldn't save Scott." Taking Allison's gun, Deucalion guided her towards Jennifer and pressed the pistol against the Darach's forehead.

Allison's breathing hitched and for a moment, it stopped altogether.

"Live up to your ancestor's name that killed the first werewolf! Live up to your Argent name and kill nature's abomination! Hunt the supernatural as it's what you have to do!" Deucalion's face morphed into an unrecognizable expression and within a blink of an eye, he was no longer there and was, instead, replaced by her mother and aunt.

"Become a killer!" they said, their voices in sync that made for a scary tone, reminding her of how she acted when she first found out about the supernatural and how she almost killed her friends when her mother died. Allison bit her lip because she wanted to become one, but she remembered Scott and how he was so against killing. Memories flooded her mind as events replayed, how she was so hell-bent on killing Derek's pack and everyone who sided with him.

Allison's teeth chattered as she steadied her resolve, aiming her gun at Jennifer's head when her hand shook. Memories replayed in her mind as Gerard's voice began to fill her head. " _Not now, sweetheart_ ," Allison gritted her teeth, trying to stop her lips from trembling when she tried to aim at the Darach, telling herself that it was justified, killing her. But Deucalion reminded her of Gerard and whenever Allison was reminded of her grandfather, she was reminded of how easily manipulated she was. She was brainwashed to do someone else's bidding and it had cost her so much.

Suddenly, Allison was knocked off her feet and was suddenly on the ground, pain throbbing by the side of her head as blood trickled down her cheek. Deucalion had hit her.

Deucalion growled, yelling at her as he stood in front of the Jennifer. Allison wanted to give in, to just turn off her humanity but she couldn't bring herself to fire a single shot at the Darach despite her gut telling her to. "Stupid girl!" Deucalion sneered at her, grabbing her hand and pulling her up, taking the pistol forcefully and began shooting the Darach. With Jennifer's whimpering, Deucalion took Allison's hand and placed the pistol on her palm, the cold steel colliding against her warm skin. "Perhaps," Allison fought against Deucalion as he directed the pistol towards Jennifer. "All you need is a little bit of guidance!" Allison felt his finger against the steel, closing her eyes to brace herself for the sound but it never came.

For a second, Allison considered shooting so that everything will be over but she never pulled the trigger.

Soon, Deucalion's rigid body was gone and a more protective warmth enveloped her. Gone was the force that dragged her hand upwards, the power that made her aim at Jennifer. Instead, it was replaced with muscular arms that embraced her and protected her against whatever it was that killed her from the inside. "You're not a killer, Allison." The familiar voice brought Allison to tears, the comforting tone that gave Allison the ability to just give in and break.

"Scott. . ." she cried, sinking to her feet.

"We're not killers, Allison," Scott broke from apart from the embrace, moving towards Jennifer. "We don't kill people, Allison," Scott looked at Jennifer and gave her a sympathetic look. Allison held back a sob. "We don't hunt the people who hunt us," Scott took her hands into his and gave them a gentle squeeze. " _Nous protégeons ceux qui ne peuvent pas se protéger eux-m_ _ême_." It was weird for Allison to hear that not only because Scott was never fluent in French but also because she never really did tell him about her new code. "We protect those who cannot protect themselves." Now that Allison heard it from him, she realized that it was entirely like Scott to go by a code like that.

Allison breathed in deep, trying her best to hide the strain in her voice. "I can't save everyone!" she yelled, letting out the anger she's been feeling at him. "You can't save everyone because some people are just going to destroy themselves no matter how much you try to save them," Allison hated Scott because he wouldn't let her save him, wouldn't let her anchor him to life as she once did. She hated him so much for being a hero who tried to save the people around him.

Scott breathed in deep, giving her a sad smile, his thumb wiping away a tear on her cheek. "Then don't be one of those people," Allison realized, then and there, that Scott is still trying to save her from destroying herself. "I was one of those people and it destroyed me," Scott breathed out, confessing, his expression changing into something Allison couldn't read. "I tried and tried helping everyone when I couldn't, kept myself from seeing who I am when it was right in front of me, kept shouldering everything when I should have shared the burden," Scott looked up, looking at her eyes that kept her grounded and paralyzed.

"What do I do?" Allison asked Scott, her voice soft and the darkness inside her finally fading away.

Scott smiled, laughed before smiling. "You let others help you, Allison, because it's not worth it. You need a chance," Scott looked away, looking at the ground as if he was hoping that it would swallow him up whole. "It was too late for me to realize, I let the darkness in and it won. Don't let Stiles think that he did this," Scott shook his head and Allison placed a hand on his face, wanting to feel the warmth on his face. "I did this to myself. I only stopped when I had no choice, but I wouldn't change it for the world because it saved you, all of you," Allison started crying, her tears staining her face.

With her soft crying, Allison wiped away her tears. "How can you be okay with this?" Allison asked Scott because she was wondering how he was okay with everything that he's lost despite being the person who lost most. An apprenticeship with Deaton, his grades were getting better, a mother who loves him more than anything in the world, Allison wondered how he could have handled losing all of it.

"Because I can wait for the Universe to give me a second chance to make things right." Scott slowly released her hands. Allison remembered the whole kanima situation, how she broke up with Scott. "Because it's about fate and destiny. I can wait for a second chance." Allison nodded through tears. "But you have the chance to get it right on the first go," taking her hands once more, Scott pressed his lips against her knuckles. Allison felt his lips graze against her skin. "

Suddenly, the gun was on her palm again, Deucalion beside her and forcing her to shoot Jennifer. Allison didn't have super werewolf smelling, but the scent of blood was overpowering. "Kill her!" Deucalion snarled again, shifting into a wolf-man.

"Be stronger than that. Don't destroy yourself by giving in to darkness." Scott's voice rang in her head as Allison breathed in deep.

Remembering her grandfather, Allison lowered the gun and turned to face Deucalion. "I forgot to tell you something," Allison's finger fiddled with the hem of her shirt, trying so carefully as to lift up a portion of it only to reveal a pocket holding some arrows. Allison remembered that they were flashbang arrowheads that Ethan gave her. "Gerard said that ' _Deucalion isn't always blind_ ,' and while I'd like to think of it in a more metaphorical way, we both know that you can see," Allison dropped the arrowheads and soon, the room was filled with a bright light.

The lunar eclipse started and the tables have turned, the advantage suddenly given to the other team. Allison moved to a side when Deucalion was man-handled by Jennifer, who was obviously drawing power from the Nemeton, and started bashing his head against the cement underneath their feet. Turning her head to a side, Allison saw Derek giving her a look, stopping her from helping Deucalion. "What are you doing?" Allison hissed at Derek when he held her by the shoulders.

Holding a finger up to his lips, Derek pointed at Deucalion and Jennifer. "She wants her revenge." Allison gave Derek a confused look but he shook his head continued whispering in hushed tones. "Jennifer wants to show her face to Deucalion, her scarred and damaged face." Allison raised a brow, hiding behind a rusty machine.

"Isn't Deucalion blind?" Derek nodded.

"Exactly." Derek pointed at the fight and Allison saw Deucalion being held by the neck. "Hide behind this, be quiet." Derek stepped up crossed the distillery, walking towards Jennifer. "You know, he doesn't know," Derek said casually, shrugging as if it was common knowledge, what he was about to say.

"Know what?" a sneer played at Jennifer's lips, a cruel and fear-striking expression that would have sired nightmares.

Flashing his other eyes, Derek's blue eyes shone when he eyed Deucalion. Allison kept quiet, knowing well what Derek was baiting the Darach to do. "What you really look like. He knows the cost of bringing Kali in the pack but he doesn't know the price _you_ paid." Stepping away, Derek hid behind a hay bale when Jennifer started willing the wind to her command, her face transforming into a scarred and burned skin that reminded Allison of when Scott was suicidal back at the Glen Capri.

"No. No, he hasn't," Jennifer raised Deucalion's limp head and made him stare into her scarred face, letting him absorb the damage he's done. Allison remained quiet, waiting for an opportunity to strike. Deucalsion's eyes wouldn't open, his head still lolled to a side when she exploded. "Turn to me. _Turn to me_!" Allison moved from her spot, moving to the beams above her that eventually blocked some of the blood moon's rays of light. Eventually, a shadow rested on Derek and the Darach's spot.

Trying to kill Deucalion, Allison smiled when she watched as Jennifer found that she couldn't deliver the killing blow. Holding back the small huff of victory, Allison moved down and away from the beams and went back to her old spot behind the rusting machine.

"What is this?" Jennifer asked again as she tried— _and failed_ —to kill Deucalion, who was at her feet unconscious.

Derek hid in the shadows. "Healing him made you weak, just like healing Cora did to me. You won't have your strength for at least a few minutes," Allison caught onto his words, knowing well what Derek meant by a few minutes. Everything clicked into place for her, realizing well what had happened to Derek and what had taken him so long to reach them. A look of disbelief was on Jennifer's face when she shook it off, looking at Derek as if he had to finish what she started.

"Then you do it. Kill him!" Jennifer's voice rang with a darkness that Allison didn't know a person's voice could hold.

After that, it was all a blur. Derek refused to kill, citing his mother about being a predator but not a killer. Allison remembered Deucalion being stuck inside the Mountain Ash circle with Jennifer. She remembered how it because of her moving the metal sheets resting above the metal beams above them that gave Deucalion enough time to heal himself and finish Jennifer once and for all—initially, Allison was just too tired to continue fighting, she just wanted to leave Jennifer when Deucalion slashed the Darach's throat, the Mountain Ash circle disappearing into the air when it was _finally_ over.

Deucalion was a different matter. Allison, though she wanted to just let Jennifer go, wanted to punish Deucalion in some way. After all, Allison thought to herself, it all started with the Alpha Pack and Jennifer was just a name in the long list of victims Deucalion managed to hurt with his quest for perfection. But then, Allison realized that it was her Grandfather's fault, too.

Though Allison was against it, Derek convinced her that Deucalion was capable of becoming the man he once was—a man of vision, no matter how ironic the statement was, or how poetic it became when Jennifer restored his vision.

The only part of the night Allison didn't remember was being brought to the hospital for her injuries. Her injuries, apparently, were caused by some of the sharp edges of the rusty machines, metal beams, and sheets she moved around in the distillery. A few cuts was all she had, a minor concussion from Deucalion, and a limp from being thrown across when she defied the alpha.

Stiles looked at her, probably noticed all the cuts and wounds, the bandages and the cold compress she had in her hand. He knew about her battle with the Darach.

Also, Allison didn't remember how she got inside the morgue, or how she ended up watching Scott's pale corpse on the examination table. She just found herself crying with Stiles, mourning the loss of a friend and brother, a first love and constant protector. They just cried when Allison stopped, all of a sudden, taking some time to see the morgue.

"Mountain Ash," Stiles said, all of a sudden. "Argent told me to make a circle around Scott because," his lips trembled and his voice broke. "The Nemeton's powered again, and all that, and Scott's like radiating the power since he's the new battery," Allison nodded, though she didn't care for it. The sight of Scott's body was painful for Allison, too much to handle. "They figured that it would be better to be safe than sorry, hence the Mountain Ash," Allison didn't listen much to Stiles. She just spend the time watching Scott's peaceful face, wondering how long it took for him to get what he deserved—rest.

Though Allison wanted to be selfish. She wanted to keep him in this world where he would always get hurt because, at least then, she'd take care of him.

Rubbing soothing patterns on her shoulder, Stiles just cried with her. Allison found comfort knowing that she'd have someone grieve with her. "It's, uh, we have to go," Stiles said, looking at the door. Allison knew that the police needed their statements. She even saw Agent McCall sitting in the waiting area, probably as lost as anyone would be. He was probably just begging for an answer because even if he came as an agent first and as a father second, he cared about Scott.

Allison saw from the jabs Lydia gave him earlier at her apartment. Allison felt pity for the man, for the first time, because his son was dead.

"Come on, let's go, the world is probably waiting for us because we're the kids who cried wolf—pun intended," Stiles muttered, his arms still around Allison when blue light filled the room. Stiles stopped frozen in his tracks, Allison following suit when blue light filled the room. She gave Stiles a look, knowing well that hoping could only destroy them, so they turned around slowly, only to see Scott with a lost look on his face, the white sheet that still hung on his body.

It was like Scott didn't even see Stiles and Allison because he tried to pushed against the wall of Mountain Ash despite her yelling, telling him to stop fighting, that she'd free him from his cage. But Scott broke free, the Mountain Ash flew all over the room and Scott stood in the middle of the morgue, still wearing the clothes he had when they went inside the tub filled with mistletoe. "Scott?" Allison approached him, her voice filled with hope, seeing the man she thought she'd lost.

Stiles copied her moves, inching forward towards Scott. "Scott, buddy? That you?" Scott didn't reply, he just kept looking at the ground, but his palms were dripping with blood. "Hey, Scotty, I think you need some help," Stiles moved towards the door and slowly opened it. "I'm going to find some help, okay, Scott?" Allison inched forward, despite seeing Stiles grimace at her actions.

It was obvious that Stiles wanted Allison to go find some help with him. But she didn't really care. Allison knew the dangers she was facing when she stepped closer towards Scott.

Allison took another step, finally within arms reach. She breathed out shakily, "Scott?" finally, they got a reaction from him.

Scott looked up from the spot on the ground he kept staring at, his eyes glowing blood red.

"I'm an alpha now."


End file.
